Heavy Rain: ARI
by LaffeeTaffee
Summary: Origami, drugs, virtual reality, and rain. When FBI profiler Norman Jayden is sent to investigate the Origami killings, the boundaries of reality and fantasy are strained in the wake of corrupt Lieutenant Carter Blake and awkward Sergeant Ashley Gibbons. In the race to save Shaun Mars, Norman faces a terrible decision: to accept a morbid reality, or succumb to the bliss of fantasy.
1. Chapter 1: The Dog

_You are all part of an extraordinary new future. One that will shed light on the darkest recesses of humanity. Think of this as a gift from the greatest minds of our age, and use it to protect those who can't defend themselves. It will connect, enhance, and guide your cognitive skills in a ways that we've never before been able to comprehend. And with that said, use it with caution; there's no research on the long-term effects, and based on its ability to integrate with your neural network, you will be tied to it. You will become part of it, and it will become part of you. Learn to manage it correctly, and the ARI will change the way you view the world forever._

The blue vial glinted like sapphire in Norman's hand, highlighted against the gray light that escaped through the stormclouds. It hadn't stopped raining since he arrived, and the gentle raindrops pattered on the roof of his car, sending streams of water down the windows. The rain offered an unexpected privacy against the flashing lights of the police cars outside, and Norman leaned his forehead against the steering wheel as he gazed at the blue vial. It hadn't been cheap to gather, and he would have to be sure to keep it hidden.

He stuffed the vial into his coat pocket along with the other vials which clicked as they knocked together. Despite its questionable legality, Norman felt nothing but comfort at the thought it was nearby. He imagined it was the same sort of relief a man felt after a fight with his wife, that he could run into another woman's arms. Comforting, yet treacherous at the same time.

As he sat up straight, he caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror. A night of no sleep hadn't done him any good. His tired green eyes made his normally young face look about ten years older. He hadn't combed his hair in days, and it had clumped together in messy waves over his forehead. At least he'd shaved recently, though it seemed it only served to expose more of his pale skin. If he wasn't wearing his new grey suit, he would probably have easily passed for a drug-addict.

Norman rubbed his hands together before opening the car door and stepping out into the rain. It felt good to finally be able to stretch his legs after the long drive from Washington, but the joy was short-lived as he felt cold water leak into his shoes. His jacket and pants immediately stuck to his skin, and a numbness spread upwards from his fingertips. He let out a deep sigh, and a cloud of steam rose in front of his face. So, this was Philadelphia.

The flashing lights created a haze of blue and red that Norman could hardly see through. Blurry black figures stood in groups, and to his left was a tall chainlink fence. Police cars blocked the way in front of him, and far into the distance was the roar of what he guessed was a highway. Norman gazed up at the morning sun which failed to shine through the clouds to the east. It might as well have been permanent night there.

He moved towards the flashing lights, squinting through the torrent of rainwater. A reflective line of police tape appeared in front of him and Norman leaned over it, searching for a clear path.

"Hey!" A low voice rang over the splashing of rainwater. Norman turned to see a policeman in a rain jacket shine a flashlight at him. His eyes ached, and Norman raised his hand against the beam. "You have authorization to be in this area?" the policeman asked.

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Carter Blake," said Norman, narrowing his eyes against the light. "Could you point that thing somewhere else?"

"Who are you?" The policeman aimed the flashlight to the side, and Norman was temporarily blinded by residual light. He reached into his pocket and held out his badge.

"Agent Norman Jayden, FBI." He stuffed the badge back into his interior coat pocket. "Captain Leighton Perry said I could find Lieutenant Blake here. Do you know where he is?"

"How the hell should I know?" The policeman stepped to the side. "Check the crime scene. He's probably out there somewhere."

Norman dropped his shoulders and sighed heavily. "No shit," he muttered quietly as he stepped underneath the police tape.

He was standing in what appeared to be an empty lot next to a low hill which rose to the freeway. Dark figures moved around him, some casting him curious looks as they passed. Norman motioned to the nearest group.

"Hey, I'm looking for Lieutenant Carter Blake," he called. One of the officers shrugged, and the group continued walking. Norman groaned and stepped sideways to another group. "Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Blake?"

"You FBI?" One of the figures asked. Norman nodded, and the officer pointed. "Why don't you ask them over there if they've seen him."

Norman turned and squinted through the falling rain. "What─ who?" He looked back at the group of officers who had turned their backs to him."Excuse me, I don't see anyone." An officer chuckled, and Norman felt his face heat up. He ran a hand over his face, and walked to the end of the lot where the freeway offered shelter from the rain. So it was going to be another one of these investigations. It wasn't his fault that the PPD couldn't handle one serial killer. But if he was going to judge the department off first impressions, he wasn't surprised.

Two officers stood to his right, huddled over steaming mugs of coffee. Norman let out a frustrated breath, and moved toward them. If he asked them one at a time, he might eventually find the person he was looking for.

"Do you know where I can find Lieutenant Carter Blake?" he asked. One of the officers turned to him and lifted her hood revealing a pair of wide brown eyes.

"Who?"

Norman shifted his weight, containing his frustration. "Lieutenant Carter Blake?"

The officer pointed across the lot. "Last I saw, he was talking to the Sheriff about a coroner. Down by the power shed."

His frustration faded a bit as he looked across the lot. Through the haze, he spotted a tall man in a dark trenchcoat who stood out from the shrouded policemen. Norman waved a hand at the officer next to him. "Thanks," he said, and stepped into the rain.

The place was packed with police. If Norman didn't know any better, he would think it was a local law enforcement convention. He stepped carefully around a pack of officers who trudged to the entrance, laughing together. A crime scene shouldn't have this many police. They were trampling the evidence, if there was any evidence left.

He grunted as a policeman bumped shoulders with him, and Norman had to catch himself before tumbling into a small white tent. He turned quickly to confront the officer, but he had already disappeared into the haze of shapes and lights. Norman sighed, and looked down at the small tent. There was no point in starting a fight. Anyways, it looked like he'd found the body.

He kneeled carefully in the mud, grasping the plastic sheet that covered the opening. They'd done a poor job in keeping the area clear. A rainproof tent was hardly necessary considering the place was flooded. He tugged the sheet which clicked along the rail.

"Hey!" Heavy splashes behind him told him that someone was approaching quickly. Norman stood up and spun around, coming face to face with a soaked man sporting a dark beard. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Norman held up his hands and struggled to speak. "Look, I don't mean to cause problems." He held out his hand. "I'm Agent Norman Jayden from the FBI. Are you Lieutenant Carter Blake?"

The man stared at him for a moment with glaring eyes, then stepped away from him, hands against his forehead. Norman gazed through the rain and recognized the dark trenchcoat.

"I knew it," Blake grumbled. "I just fucking knew it." Blake dropped his arms at his sides and looked sideways at Norman who was at a loss for words. "So you're here to play Agent Smith and slow this whole process down, am I right?" Norman stared at him, a deep dread rising in his gut. Blake waved his arm around. "Welcome to the crime scene. Why don't you do whatever it is you're here to do, and stay out of our way."

"Lieutenant Blake, I'm here to help catch the Origami Killer," said Norman, stepping forward. "I'm not here to wage a war or have a power struggle. I just want to find who did this and bring a stop to the murders."

Blake clapped his hands together, creating explosions of water droplets. "Well aren't you a god damn hero. Gonna save our little town and bring peace back to society?" He moved closer so that Norman could see the anger in his eyes. "Listen, punk. I've put the last three years of my career on the line to solve these murders. So if you think you can just stroll in here, perform your little laser scan and have the whole thing figured out in ten minutes, then you have no idea what you're in for." Blake moved away and faded into the haze, followed by a few other officers.

Norman scratched the back of his head, shivering as cold water ran down his back. "I guess I'll see you at your office then," he called.

Classic police versus FBI. It was too bad they didn't offer a class for that at the university. Norman shook his head, and felt a small bubble of cynicism. Performing scans _was_ what he was best at. And now that Blake had left the scene, Norman's confidence was beginning to rise.

He reached into his interior coat pocket and produced a pair of black sunglasses, glowing blue along the arms in curved letters: ARI. Norman slipped them over his eyes, and fitted a black receptor glove onto his right hand. As the red ARI letters blinked in the upper corner of his vision, he felt his temples buzz. This was more like it.

"ARI recording," he said, flexing his hand further into the glove. "Fix location four seven zero two three. Note date and time." The words _October 4, 2011, 8:14 A.M_ flashed in front of his eyes and disappeared. A small red sphere appeared under the letters, and Norman held his right palm parallel to the ground, sending out a radial beam of light that faded into the darkness.

A list scrolled to the left of him, panning upwards so quickly that Norman could hardly focus. He sighed, putting his forehead in his hand. He should have known it would be like this. "Disregard all police content on record," he muttered. The list shrank considerably, though he still spotted about ten instances of footprints, sweat from the local officers, and what appeared to be coffee. "Well, it was worth testing," he said quietly. He turned and kneeled in front of the tent, pulling the sheet open again. He could at least start with what was easiest.

If he hadn't already investigated dozens of murder cases, he might have been taken off guard by the scene. Norman ducked his head under the tent, panning slowly from left to right so the ARI could capture everything.

"ARI, comment," he said. "Victim is lying flat on his back, arms at his sides and legs together. Victim appears to be a small boy. Maybe ten or eleven years old." He gazed at the boy's face, and pressed one of his gloved fingers to the boy's cheek. "The victim's face is covered in mud. Looks like it was applied recently." Text flashed in front of him as the ARI broke down the mud's basic elements. "The mud is from the local area. It was applied after the victim was killed."

He held his hand flat over the body, and a ring of light spread outwards, drifting along the contours of the small boy. "There's no exterior trauma to the victim. However…" Norman leaned forward and touched his glove to the boy's chest. "The victim's lungs are full of fresh water. Cause of death was by drowning." He reached forward and held his hand directly over the boy's face. The receptors on the glove glowed, and the image of a smiling boy appeared in his vision followed by a small paragraph of text. "Victim is Jeremy Bowles. Aged 12. Reported missing September 30, 2011." Norman sighed as he rested his arms on his knees. "Sorry, Jeremy."

A delicate white flower rested on the boy's jacket, and Norman ran a finger across it. "A common white orchid has been placed on the victim's chest after time of death. Seems to be fresh." He waved his hand over the body again, and one last detail caught his attention. He reached down and opened the boy's hand, revealing a soggy paper origami figure. Norman leaned forward, pressing his left hand to his glasses. "The victim is holding an origami paper dog in his right hand. Looks like it was placed there after death."

Norman glanced around the tent and flattened his hand, sending out another wave of light. "No more discernable evidence. I'm gonna check the surrounding area." He leaned out of the tent and closed the sheet.

Fresh rainwater soaked his hair as he stood up straight. The rain seemed to be lightening up a bit, though Norman suspected that was false hope. He held up his gloved hand and scrolled through the scanned items. Police boots, spit from one of the officers, a styrofoam cup, urine… "You gotta be fucking kidding me," Norman growled under his breath. He flicked his hand, scrolling down. Cigarette bud, worn plastic, orchid pollen. Norman automatically glanced at the tent. Orchid pollen in the rain? It was a snowball's chance in hell, but maybe…

He tapped the text and the orchid pollen highlighted, moving to the center of his vision. Holding his palm outward, he sent out another sphere of light. The ground illuminated, and a small square of text appeared. Orchid pollen had been detected, and it was leaving a trail.

"ARI, comment." Norman kneeled to the ground, touching his glove to the trail. "The orchid left a trail of pollen that leads to the railroad tracks." He raised his hand to the list again and continued scrolling downward. His heart skipped a beat. "Gotcha." He tapped the list, and then held his hand over the ground, highlighting a track of footprints. "Hello, size ten Timberland," he said. "Where are you going?"

Norman stood up and followed the footprints, stepping carefully over the railroad tracks and holding his hand forward so the sphere revealed the way like a spotlight. The orchid pollen dimmed and faded away completely as he moved further from the tent, and the tracks began to break up. Norman quickened his pace, and the tracks suddenly turned left up the hill.

He paused as he looked up the muddy slope. A flicker of confusion dashed through his chest. The killer had dragged the body down this muddy hill from the freeway? It seemed incredible that no one had noticed something so odd in such a high traffic area. Norman held onto the chainlink fence as he scaled the slope. The rush of the freeway grew louder, and the air filled with mist as he reached the top.

Norman kneeled down, touching his finger to the mud. "The tracks are getting too washed out." He narrowed his eyes at a strip carved into the ground. "But maybe…" He held his hand above the strip, and the light illuminated an imprinted tire track. A list scrolled to his left, ticking through possible brand matches. The list flashed red, and a red line drew outward, pointing to text that read "inconclusive."

"Shit." Norman rested his hands on his knees, staring out into the traffic. This was where the trail ended. And he'd gotten nowhere.

A frustrated breath escaped his lungs, and Norman looked back down at the tire track. He'd have to walk away with at least something. Flexing his gloved hand, he reached down and touched the tire track. The list scrolled again, and Norman felt his temples tingle. There had to be something. A conspicuous crack. A nail in the tire. The depth of the tread. Anything. The list ticked away, and finally a highlighted text slid to the center of the screen. It flashed yellow, and Norman rested his hand on his knee.

"ARI, comment. Speculation based on observation. The tire tracks belong to an older sedan. They're about thirty-thousand miles overdue. Apparently, the killer is a slacker."

He stood up straight and glanced back down at the lot. Besides the body, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The chainlink hadn't been damaged, there were no obvious tracks besides the tire marks, and the body lay in the very center of the lot. As Norman watched the police move across the area, he was suddenly reminded of a funeral.

Norman put a finger to his glasses. "Note time." The numbers _8:47 A.M_ flashed across his vision. "End ARI recording." There was a cascade of lines, and the red sphere disappeared. Norman peeled off his glove and removed the glasses, glaring against the contrast of the lights in the rain.

So much for a thorough investigation. With the rain and procession of police, there wasn't much left for him to scan. Still, something was better than nothing. He might find more once he returned to the police station.

He slid carefully down the muddy path, and stepped over the railroad tracks. Blake was nowhere in sight, and Norman thought it best not to provoke him anyway. He passed the police officers without a word, bending underneath the police tape. A dull frustration tugged at him. He could still try to start fresh with Blake in a dryer environment, but somehow Norman felt it would be useless. Once he'd mentioned FBI, it was pretty much over.

Norman opened the door of his car and slid into the seat, shaking the water from his hands. In the light of the cab, he noticed his suit, and felt a cloud of despair drift over him. His pants were splashed with mud up to his knees, and his shoes were splotched with uneven moisture. Norman slumped in his seat, dropping his head back.

This investigation was certainly off to a fantastic start.


	2. Chapter 2: ARI

"Captain, is there any chance that the dead child found in the wasteland was a victim of the Origami Killer?"

"We can't say for certain at this time, but my officers are investigating the death as a homicide. It looks to be another Origami victim."

"You said 'another' victim. How many other people has the Origami Killer murdered?"

"Not including this morning, we know of seven people that have been murdered by the Origami Killer. There was evidence of the same methodology used by the killer in all seven cases, suggesting this is all the work of one singular individual."

"If this is one individual, how are you certain that you will catch him and stop the killings?"

"The police department is pulling all of its resources in order to study and identify the killer. He's going to make a mistake sooner or later, and when he does, the PPD will be there to take him down."

Norman was too late to stop his quiet snort, and made even less effort to hide the shake of his head. A woman glanced up at him curiously, and he pushed off the back of the chair that he'd been leaning on, avoiding her gaze. He had to get out of there. The flashing of the cameras was going to give him a migraine if Captain Perry didn't give him one first.

He stepped out of the conference room and into the main lobby where the busy office sounds greeted him. Ambient phone calls, low voices, and the sounds of filing cabinets being opened and closed echoed through the spacious room. For a Philadelphia police station, it was actually quite calm. There was room to walk in between the office cubicles, and most of the police officers were sitting down at their computers. If he had known it would be this spacious, he probably wouldn't have requested his own office.

Blake hadn't said a word to him since he arrived at the station. Norman scanned the cubicles for the familiar dark hair and beard, and spotted him at the far end of the room. He had no reason to believe that Blake would spare even a minute to talk to him, but Norman felt restless. He didn't survive three hours of motion sickness from Washington to Philadelphia just to sit around in a conference room listening to the PPD talk about how they'd accomplished nothing in the past three years.

Norman moved through the cubicles, twisting his body occasionally to pass people who were seated in the walkways. When he arrived at Blake's desk, he leaned against it to get his attention.

"Captain Perry's at the press conference," said Norman. "Do you have time to talk about the case?" Blake tapped at his keyboard, eyes locked on the screen. Norman stared at him for a moment, biting his lip. "Did you hear me?" Blake continued to type without so much as a glance. Norman adjusted the ARI glasses in his coat pocket, feeling his frustration begin to rise. "Look, if we're going to catch the killer, the least we can do is put aside this… feud."

Blake paused and looked at Norman without moving his head. "You can start by getting off my fucking desk."

Norman felt his face flush, but forced himself to contain his frustration. He stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest.

Blake resumed typing. "Plus I don't have time to hold your hand through this investigation. You wanna help─ go get the information yourself."

Norman fought the urge to fling Blake's monitor across the room. He quickly scratched the back of his neck to diffuse his disgust as he moved away. "Fuck you too, Blake," he muttered under his breath.

His head was beginning to pound. It seemed the more he tried to involve himself in the case, the more resistance he was met by everyone. He'd participated in police investigations before but nothing of this magnitude, and certainly not with this level of disdain. It seemed so much to ask for one thing to go smoothly, or at least not completely berate him off the case.

Norman rubbed his forehead as he grabbed a cup from the water dispenser. He pressed the tab, and tapped when nothing came out. He pinched his eyes shut with his thumb and forefinger. One thing. Just one thing. He simply wasn't going to win. There was still time to call Washington and tell them his services were no longer needed. And if he did, he doubted the police department would say any different. Even as he considered it, he felt his stomach twinge. He'd at least give himself another day before suffering the drive back.

There was a heavy slam, and Norman spasmed in shock as the water dispenser rocked back and forth.

"Sorry. You have to pound the top of it like you're trying to murder it when they put a new tank in."

"Jesus…" Norman ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply to slow his pounding heart. It took a moment for him to focus on the officer standing next to him, her brunette pony tail falling sideways as she gazed at him. She ran a thumb over her bottom lip and motioned to the water dispenser.

"It's um─ you can use it now." She took a small step back. Norman rubbed his forehead again as he threw her a sideways glance.

"Thanks." He held the cup under the tab as it filled with water.

"You're that FBI agent from this morning, aren't you?" said the officer. "You were at the crime scene."

Norman looked at her over the rim of his cup as he drank, and recognized the wide brown eyes he'd seen under the hood earlier that morning. He motioned with the empty cup. "Yeah." The exasperation rose in his chest as he flung the cup into the nearby trashcan. "Yeah, that's me."

She shrugged. "Well, if you need any help on the case, feel free to ask me or Lieutenant Blake. Perry's had us on the case for three years now." She shifted slowly from foot to foot, and Norman was reminded of a child asking a parent for permission to stay up late.

Norman gave a friendly nod. "Thanks. I think I got it all figured out."

The officer looked around as if trying to find something else to say. "Have they shown you your office?"

It was difficult for Norman to keep from groaning out loud. He kept it down to a small sigh, and part of his frustration was replaced by small, cynical rise in hope. At least there was someone in this city who was willing to work with him. He looked at the officer, and waved his hand. "No, not yet."

She moved next to him as she pointed to the other end of the room. "There's two offices there. The one on the left is yours." She pointed to a curly-haired woman sitting behind a desk near the offices. "If you need anything, the secretary will help you. Her name's Charlene. She's kinda slow, but she makes good coffee."

Norman nodded. "Okay, then." He scratched the back of his head again, and motioned to the officer. "Thanks." She smiled, and moved away.

Norman watched her as she left, and shook his head slowly. No wonder the Origami Killer hadn't been caught for so long. The officers running the case were either assholes or just plain crazy.

He moved past the cubicles, and opened the door to his office. A strong musty smell immediately hit him, and he peered through the dingy light. He thought for a moment he'd entered a large closet space, but as the dust settled around him, he saw a lopsided desk covered in stacks of paper. A rusty filing cabinet stood in one corner, and in between piles of newspapers was a chair with a missing wheel. Curtains of cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the walls were patterned with chipped paint.

Norman doubled back and looked around the lobby as if expecting someone to correct him into a different office. This time they were sinking really low. When he'd asked for an office, he hadn't meant a storage closet.

He moved toward the secretary and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said. The secretary turned to him. "I'm Agent Jayden from the FBI." He motioned over his shoulder. "I think they gave me the wrong office."

"No, that's the right one," said the secretary without looking at his gesture. "You wanted a quiet private office to work in?"

Norman began to reply, but his frustration paralyzed him. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Without a word to the secretary, he turned and entered the dingy closet space. It didn't take much for him to get the message, and it wasn't necessary for them to ram it down his throat. He closed the door and paused facing the scratched wood. With a heavy sigh, he rocked forward and smacked his forehead against it. Something tinkled from the ceiling and broke on the floor next to him.

The throbbing pain in his head wasn't going away, and Norman didn't expect it would anytime soon. He looked sideways at the office. As shabby as the office seemed, a desk and a chair _was_ all he ARI would take care of the rest.

He walked to the desk and with a deep breath, he pushed the stacks of papers onto the floor which erupted in a cloud of dust. He waved the cloud out of his face, and headed to the chair. Gripping it by the backrest, he jerked it forward, catapulting the loose pages of newspaper onto the floor, and dragged it next to the desk with a heavy screech. Then he placed both hands against the desk, and pushed. The desk immediately wobbled and crashed as he walked it flat against the wall, and Norman was willing to bet his badge that the entire department was aware of his struggle in the makeshift office. Good for them to know they got exactly what they wanted.

Norman propped the desk level using a small stack of newspaper underneath one of the legs, and did the same with the chair. Then he stood up straight and admired his handiwork. He definitely wouldn't be taking any meetings in here. He dusted his hands, and caught sight of his suit which was now layered in dried dirt and white patches of dust. So much for his five-hundred dollar suit.

There was no point in standing around sulking. Norman sat at the desk, steadying himself on the wobbly chair. Perry clearly thought he was useless, Blake refused to work with him, and his environment was one giant trashcan. Norman fumbled with his chest pocket. At least there was one thing they didn't count on.

The surrounding dust was punctured by blue light as the receptors on the ARI glowed. Norman unfolded the glasses, and slid them casually over his eyes while he pulled the glove from his jacket pocket. As he fitted the glove onto his right hand, he felt his built-up frustration begin to break down. It was starting to feel more like home.

One thing was certain: he wasn't going to be staring at a wall of cobwebs all week. He pressed his hands together and drew them apart, the familiar tingling sensation stirring at his temples. A line of spheres appeared as if he were opening an accordion, spinning and bobbing in the air. Norman flicked his hand sideways, causing the orbs to rotate around him, and automatically put his hand against his favorite. He held his breath, and slammed the orb onto the surface of the desk.

The walls, cobwebs, newspapers, and filing cabinet melted away with a loud rush of air, leaving a void of darkness around him. White sand spread under his feet, and thousands of squirming blue dots floated over his head like frozen fireworks. Some of the dots drifted into the sphere of light that surrounded Norman's desk, taking the shape of bizarre fish and eels before fading back into the darkness. Far into the distance, a low moan caused the desk to vibrate, and an enormous dark shape moved through the shadows, creating a black path through the bioluminescent fish.

"Hey, Nessie," said Norman, flexing his hands. He breathed out slowly and flicked his wrist upwards, conjuring a ring of small objects in front of him. "Time to work."

The pounding in his head subsided a bit as he cycled through the bubbles of information he'd gathered from that morning. The tire tracks, the pollen, the orchid and origami figure… there wasn't much to analyze. He narrowed his focus like a beam on each object, scanning for traces of DNA or fingerprints. A faint signature glowed in the folds of the paper figure, and Norman cupped it in both hands, pulling his right hand away as he zoomed in. It was too small, and as he drew deeper, Norman felt his mind begin to scatter as if someone was shaking him violently. He pulled away, and gave his head a shake to clear his mind.

Aside from the body itself, there was little to no evidence that a murder had been committed. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the police had purposely trampled the crime scene to destroy what little evidence was left.

Norman swept his arm over the desk and the bubbles shot away into the darkness. If he couldn't make headway at the crime scene, he might as well do some profiling. He dropped his hand flat on the desk and closed his fingers, pulling out an ethereal file. He released it and the file opened in front of him, the pages splaying evenly. There wasn't much information on the Origami killer, considering the killings had taken place over three years in such just one city. He flicked through the reports, narrowing his focus to absorb the information quickly. Eight victims, all in Philidelphia, bodies scattered throughout the wasteland near railroad tracks, orchids and origami figures… and absolutely no information on the killer himself. No witnesses or leads despite thousands of people questioned on the subject. The boys disappeared during the day and were found three to five days later, drowned in rainwater.

There'd been easier cases, that was for sure. Creating a profile from nothing was going to be frustrating, not to mention risky. Norman ran his finger over specific lines in the file, highlighting sections and pulling them out into the air. Then he pressed the tips of his gloved fingers onto the table, creating highlighted keyboard keys. He took a deep breath, then raised his left hand to the floating notes and began to combine them.

Philadelphia─ three years─ eight victims─ all boys─ railroad tracks─ orchids─ origami─ Norman flexed and twisted his left hand to touch each note, scattering some to the side and drawing others back. His right hand tapped away on the surface of the desk and highlighted keys which printed a separate ethereal sheet of numbers and statistics. Woman thirty-seven percent─ man sixty-three percent─ juvenile, young, middle aged, elderly─ asian, white, African American, hispanic─ vehicle─ weapons─ location─ motive─

Norman could never be sure how long profiling would take. He flicked his hands and looked back and forth quickly between the two stations, fighting the numbness in his temples. Overhead, the blue lights floated lazily, and the dark shape groaned as it spinned slowly behind him.

Norman gritted his teeth as he worked, flicking his hand more rapidly. Beside him, the profile sheet rolled in on itself, filling in pictures, maps, and charts. He scattered notes to the side and combined the last few. Then the sheet sliced off at the bottom, and Norman rocked back in his chair, breathing heavily as if he'd run a mile.

With a flick of his finger, he straightened the sheet in front of him. Now he had something to work with. He raised his hand to his glasses, and the scenery melted away in a low rumble, replaced by the drab environment of the office.

Norman set the ARI onto the table and leaned forward, rubbing the sides of his head. Not bad work, if he said so himself. Washington would certainly be proud of him if they could see him drawing an extensive profile from only a few notes and observations. Perhaps now Blake and Perry would be willing to listen to him.

He stood up, stuffing the glove and the ARI into his coat pocket. The sooner they were all on the same page, the sooner they could catch the Origami Killer, and the sooner he could go back to Washington. Norman moved towards the door.

His shoulder hit the wall, and Norman paused. The room around him grew dark as if a cloud had moved overhead. He didn't need to look at his hands to know they were shaking. He rolled back so he was flat against the wall, and struggled to control his breathing. It was happening. He knew it would, but there was no way to prepare for it.

Norman closed his eyes and slid down the wall onto the floor. Hopefully this time it would be less. If not, he still had…

He groaned as he put his forehead in his hands. His stomach wrenched, and his hands and feet tingled with needles. It was coming on sooner than usual. Norman breathed through his clenched teeth. He had to breathe. Breathing was the most important thing. His head swam, and for a moment, Norman felt as though he were floating through space. He straightened his back and stretched his legs, flexing his hands over and over to root himself again.

The pressure on either side of his head increased, and Norman bottled his scream. He ran his fingers through his hair and clutched as he began to rock back and forth. This was getting bad. But he hadn't been in the ARI for very long. Why was this time so much worse?

Norman opened his eyes, and saw only inky blackness. His entire body was tingling, and he could almost swear the blood was leaking through his skin. He slid sideways and fell against the tiled floor. There was no escaping it. He'd put up a fight, but it was beyond his control now.

He fumbled in his coat pocket, and quickly grasped one of the small vials. Staring blankly into the darkness, Norman pried the lid off the vial with his thumb and without hesitation, brought the vial to his nose, drawing the contents deeply into his lungs with one strong sniff.

The vessels in his body seemed to erupt, starting from his face and spreading outward to his limbs. His vision shifted from inky black to blinding white, and Norman could only watch in silent awe as the shattered office ceiling slowly morphed into view.

He lay on his back for several minutes, letting sensation flow back into his body. He could never get used to the feeling, as if his soul were slowly being poured back into him. He'd never understand it, and he didn't want to.

The glass vial rolled away as he raised himself into a sitting position. There was no more tingling. No more pressure. Norman breathed a heavy sigh. It was gone.

He stood up slowly and attempted to brush the dust off his suit. One of the pockets had torn, and streaks of permanent stains patterned his coat. He dropped his shoulders and closed his eyes. He was going to need a new suit.

There was a sudden crash as the door burst open. Norman steadied himself against the wall as Blake's form appeared.

"Hey, if you're done jerking off in here─" Blake looked around for a moment, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted Norman. "What the hell happened to you?"

Norman swallowed as he shook his head. Blake rested his hand on the doorknob. "Well, get your ass out here. We've got another kidnapping. Looks like it's the Origami Killer." Blake turned and left through the door, leaving it open behind him.

For a moment, Norman simply rested his shoulder against the wall and watched the bustle of movement in the lobby. His head was pounding again. Another kidnapping? The same morning a body had been found?

Norman sighed and crunched the glass vial beneath his foot. This was going to be a long week.


	3. Chapter 3: Briefing

The officers were quiet as they filed into the ready room. Norman stood against one of the chairs as everyone took a seat. Blake sat near the back, folding his legs in front of him while Captain Perry seated himself near the doorway, and three or four other officers filled remaining chairs. The bustle faded, and Norman felt his face warm as the officers stared in his direction.

"Ah, actually before we get started here…" Perry stood up and looked around the room. "As I'm sure, you met Lieutenant Detective Carter Blake this morning." Blake glared straight ahead as if he wasn't aware of the other people in the room. "Over here is Sergeant Ashton Taylor, Officer Martin Payne, Sergeant Detective Ashley Gibbons, and Senior Deputy Sheriff Walter Hughes." Perry turned to Norman with a smile. "A lot of really formal names." He sat in the chair and waved his hand. "Why don't we get down to business?"

Norman tried not to look at the other officers. He leaned off the chair and rubbed his hands together. "Well, I don't want to waste anyone's time, so I'll start off with what I was able to extrapolate based on the case files." He paced in front of the room slowly. "The killer is most likely a white male between the ages of thirty and forty-five. He lives right here in Philadelphia, and travels by car, likely an older sedan with worn tires. Based on the tracks at the scene, his shoe size is ten, and he probably wears Timberland boots. He's either unemployed, or works a job that is flexible enough for him to commit the murders on his own time. We're talking a highly professional, organized criminal that has done his research and specialized murder down to a science. The only evidence he leaves behind is the evidence he wants us to find."

There was a snort from the back, and Norman saw Blake shift. Norman folded his arms across his chest, dredging up his confidence. "Got something to add, Blake?"

"What, you aren't going to tell us his weight, height, hair color, and favorite TV show?" Blake looked around as some of the other officers laughed. Norman forced down his frustration.

"Everything I'm telling you is based off the evidence that I found at the crime scene this morning and the case files." Norman narrowed his gaze at Blake. "I could have learned more if the investigation had been done properly from the beginning."

Blake shot forward in his chair, his face tensed in fury. Perry raised a hand. "That's enough," said Perry. "Jayden, continue."

Norman breathed out slowly. Despite Blake's attitude, Norman felt somehow stronger. "This isn't a random criminal drowning kids for sport. He is meticulous, cunning, and prepared. The bodies were found first on the outskirts of the city, and over the years have moved further towards the center. He's getting better at what he does."

Norman rested his hands on the back of a chair. "Usually when a killer first strikes, he's going to do it quickly and carefully. He'll kill, then run back to his base. The Origami Killer obviously knew that. He scattered the bodies all over the city so we can't pinpoint the location that he operates from."

Distant thunder rumbled beyond the walls. "So if we can't find the killer by location, we have to try and predict the killer's movements based on his previous habits." Norman looked up at the window. "He doesn't harm the kids directly. My guess is he doesn't even touch them until after they're dead. All of the victims are kidnapped and missing for three to five days, then found apparently drowned in rainwater. So it makes sense that during the time they're missing, they must be trapped in some kind of tank that fills up with rainwater."

Perry nodded understandingly, and Norman saw Blake cross his arms out of the corner of his eye. Norman looked around the room. "I also don't believe that the Origami killer murders out of spite. He dresses the victims up afterward like a private funeral with an origami figure in one hand and an orchid on the chest."

"Wait, but why would he smear mud on their faces if he's not murdering them in cold blood?" asked one of the officers.

"It's because it takes away their individuality," said Norman. "The mud is like a mask. He's making all the kids alike. And the private funeral… could be a sign of remorse."

"You think this psycho is sorry for what he does to them?" Blake tsked and flashed an angry look at the other officers. "Why the hell would he be sorry if he slowly drowns a child in a tank of rainwater over five days?"

"He wants something from them."

Norman gazed past the guards and found himself staring at a pair of round brown eyes. The brunette officer ran a thumb over her lip. "I mean, five days is a long time to keep someone hostage, isn't it? If you're going to risk kidnapping someone for that long instead of just killing them outright, maybe he wants some kind of information or satisfaction."

Norman pressed his knuckle against his mouth. "I don't know about the satisfaction part of it," he said. "But that was my thought too. A clear motive is that the killer is waiting for something to happen, but whatever he wants isn't happening before the kids are drowned. That's why he holds the funeral, and continues to kidnap and murder."

"Look," said Blake. "Maybe he jerks off after work every night from the kids drowning, like B.T.K." A few officers shifted uncomfortably. "You don't have to be some psychological intellectual to be a fucking sicko."

"I don't think─" The officer lowered her voice. "I don't think a sicko looking to satisfy a sexual peeve would be so caring of the body afterward. B.T.K didn't bury any of his victims."

"That's right, Blake," said Norman, and he could almost see the smoke rising from Blake's body. "The killer left the bodies in plain sight as a message. He wanted them to be found and cared for. A sexual predator isn't going to do that."

"And how the fuck do you know that?" Blake stood up, pointing at Norman violently. "How are you so convinced that this guy is white, shoe size fucking ten─" Blake ticked off his fingers "─allergic to peanuts and whatever shit you just said. How do we know you're not just taking us down some random path that's going to dead end, and this kid is just going to die like the rest of the victims, _Nor_ man?" Blake's chest heaved, and the room was quiet except for the tapping of rain.

Norman stood still, feeling as though he were braced against a heavy wave. He clenched the back of the chair and looked at Blake. "Because it's my job."

Blake threw his hands in the air and made a noise. He flung himself back into the chair and stared at the wall, shaking his foot over his knee.

"Look, we need to work together here," said Perry, turning toward the officers. "We're not going to get anywhere by fighting with eachother." Perry twisted in his chair to look at Norman. "What do you suggest we do, Agent Jayden?"

Norman's hands tingled, and he flexed them nervously. "I was able to make a list of suspects that I think match the killer's profile. If we have time, I want to question them."

"How much time do we have?" said Perry. Norman looked at the window which was dotted in raindrops. He felt his shoulders sink from the weight of the task ahead.

"The previous victims were found dead after six inches of rain. If the rain continues like this…" Norman bit his lower lip. "... then we have less than three days."

The officers looked around at eachother, and Blake shook his head slowly. Perry nodded. "Then do what you need to do."

"I'll go with you."

Norman looked up at the brunette officer. She looked about as nervous as Norman felt. He didn't know why, but somehow having her on his side made the situation less stressful. Norman gave a nod and leaned off the chair he'd been gripping. "Okay."

"And why don't you also take the Lieutenant with you," said Perry. "I don't know what you two have against eachother, but you can settle it by working together." He stood up, and the rest of the officers rose from their chairs. "Good luck, gentlemen."

The officers slowly filed out of the room one by one. Blake gave Norman a look of pure loathing before leaving the through the door. Norman felt his gut twist at the thought of working with him, if he could even call it working together. He planned on wearing the ARI for most of the investigation if it meant he wouldn't have to deal with him.

"Sounds like we've got one hell of a job." The brunette officer stepped next to Norman and gazed through the open door. "I just hope you have a good plan."

Norman shrugged his shoulders. "It's not much of a plan. To be honest..." He rubbed his forehead, "...I'm just taking this as I go." He looked sideways at her. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

She held out a hand. "Ashley Gibbons, Sergeant Detective." Norman shook it. He felt somewhat ashamed of his first impression from that morning. He hoped her unexpected insight would keep up through the investigation.

"Thanks for your input just now," said Norman. "It helped shut Blake up."

Gibbons stared at him blankly. "But he's not here right now."

For a moment, they were quiet. It took Norman a while to realize he was still holding her hand as he struggled to understand what she'd just said. Then her eyes widened.

"Oh, you mean─" she motioned with her thumb over her shoulder. "You mean during the meeting!" She breathed a laugh, and Norman couldn't help but stare at her, speechless. "Well, anything I can do to help. I never liked that guy anyway."

She moved through the door, and Norman stood still as if he were frozen solid. The patter of rain mingled with the office sounds of the lobby as the room grew quiet. Norman's hope melted away, and in a complete surrender to despair, he smacked his palm into his forehead and sighed.


	4. Chapter 4: She-Devil

The stairway was surprisingly clean for a slum. A large window illuminated the heavy brown doors of the apartment complex, and the walls were scraped an off-white, splashing the landing in natural light broken by falling rain. But underneath the fresh layer of paint, the building still had a poverish essence that leaked through the cracks. It was cheap. Fake.

Their footsteps echoed as Norman led the way up the stairs, sliding his hand idly along the enameled wrought-iron railing. As they turned to the doors, he could see the shadows framed against the wall. His own, somewhat scruffy-haired and slouched from his lack of sleep. Blake's sloped-nosed profile flicked left and right as he gazed around. Gibbons' slim form seemed to hide behind Norman's, only obvious from the angle of her cap and the curl of her pony tail.

They paused on the landing, and Norman looked at each of them. Blake ignored him completely, his hazel eyes staring blank at the wooden door. Gibbons glanced at Norman, her brown eyes betraying a spark of nervousness that Norman shared. He gave a mental shrug. It was all up to him.

He turned and knocked on the door. A few silent moments passed by, feeding the anticipation. He knocked again, and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. After the speech he gave back at the office, it would be just his luck if the man wasn't even home. The seconds passed and reality sank in.

"He's not here." Norman bowed his head and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Shit, we wasted our time coming here."

Gibbons folded her arms and stared at the floor, her face betraying her relief.

"Maybe we should have a look inside anyway."

Norman turned sideways and caught Blake's gaze. Blake stared blankly back at him.

"There's nobody home," said Norman. "Let's just move on to the other suspect."

Blake's shoulders squared as he faced the door, and he cast Norman a contemptuous look. Then in one swift motion, he raised his boot and planted it near the knob, bashing the door open so that it bounced off the opposite wall.

Norman jumped back in shock. Gibbons stammered behind him. "That's… um… we can't… oh God." Blake disappeared as he strode through the doorway.

"This is illegal, Blake," said Norman. "We don't have a warrant."

A portion of Blake's bearded face appeared as he leaned back through the doorframe. "Call the cops." He disappeared again.

Norman threw Gibbons an exasperated glance and sighed. She widened her eyes and shrugged lightly in an "oh well" manner. At least Norman could say it was Blake's idea.

He stepped into the apartment, and the light from the landing vanished into the void of the living room. It took a moment for Norman's eyes to adjust, and he felt Gibbons move next to him.

"Jesus Christ─ um, _literally_."

The living room was empty except for a flimsy table against one wall. Something was hanging from the ceiling, and Norman circled slowly on the spot as he stared upward. His gut wrenched as the objects came into focus. The ceiling, the walls, everything. Covered in various crucifixes.

He followed one wall, analyzing the crucifixes. "Nathaniel must be very uh… religious?"

"The guy's a fuckin' lunatic." Blake's voice rang from one of the hallways. "Thinks the world is coming to an end, hears voices, that kinda stuff. A few months ago we had to round him up 'cause he was ranting in the streets. Accused me of being the anti-Christ or some shit."

Norman heard a sniff behind him, and turned to see the corners of Gibbons' mouth tense. She glanced at Norman and shook her head quickly, but he saw the smile in her eyes.

Gibbons moved past him and Norman followed, being extra careful not to touch the walls. They gave him a sick feeling as if they would poison him. They entered what appeared to be the kitchen, but it was as far from a normal kitchen as Norman had ever seen. Tall candles flickered in each corner, giving the crucifixes the illusion of dancing. Random portraits of religious figures dotted the walls where there was still space, and a small dining table rested in the middle of the room.

Gibbons moved toward it, and Norman watched as she ran her finger along the beads of a rosary which lay next to a Bible on the table.

"Can this man even go from one room to the next without needing to repent?" She threw a smile at Norman who gazed back at her, unsure of what to say. She coughed lightly and through the darkness, Norman saw her face straighten. "I mean," she moved away from the table, "this sure has psychopath written all over it."

"Psychopath, yes." Norman walked near the sink which was cluttered with grimy pots and pans. "But serial killer?" He clamped his hands together under his chin as he analyzed a scattered row of prescription drug bottles which lined the countertops. The labels were hard to make out under the rips and smudged dirt. He leaned forward, recognizing the majority as ordinary eye drops and multi-vitamins, and the others as simple pain medications. It all looked so suspicious to the naked eye. But there was something wrong. It felt almost staged.

"Are─ are you asking me?"

Norman turned in surprise. Gibbons stared back at him, her eyebrows slightly raised. For a second, Norman was frozen as he tried to remember what he'd said.

"Whether I think he's the serial killer, I mean." Gibbons said quickly. She tilted her head and rubbed her forehead. "Because you said it like a rhetorical question."

He didn't mean to, but Norman gazed at Gibbons with narrowed eyes and wondered whether he should answer at all. A few seconds passed, and Gibbons dropped her head back, closing her eyes.

" _Right_ ," she whispered. She turned away and moved out of the room.

Norman sighed and shook his head slightly. There was no point in even trying. Not with her at least.

Each room was the same as the next, with the exception of some remnants that confirmed the place was somewhat a home. Rosary beads and Bibles were on every surface. Some of the beads had been rubbed flat on one side as if someone had repeatedly clenched them together. A stained mattress marked the bedroom, and a blackened toilet indicated a bathroom. How someone could live there comfortably, Norman had no idea. Then again, if this was the home of a killer, anything was possible.

He entered the living room and moved along the far wall, gazing at the crucifixes. Not a single one was a duplicate. Some even looked hand-carved, chiseled and gnarled. He paused by one which caught his attention. In the flickering candlelight, he could just identify a small boy carved onto the cross, complete with knee-high shorts and short hair. He leaned in close. Very unusual for someone so devoted to Christ to have a false crucifix.

There was a muffled crunch behind him, and Norman spun quickly. His voice caught in his throat as he gazed at the open doorway.

A black silhouette blocked out much of the sunlight. It stood quiet and unmoving, but through the blurriness of the features, Norman could faintly see two large eyes locked on him. They seemed terrified, almost pleading with him. And despite himself, Norman felt a deep shame build in his chest.

The figure staggered toward him slowly, coming further into focus. A gangly, unkempt man came into view, his clothes tattered and hair matted. His terrified eyes flicked from the crucifixes to the table and back to Norman. The man's mouth quivered as he tried to speak, and Norman put his hands forward in attempt to calm him.

"'Bout time you showed up, Nathaniel."

Norman felt his muscles tighten at the loud voice, and realized with a start that Blake was watching from the hallway leaning against the doorframe. The man spun quickly, his body jerking as if fighting the urge to bolt back through the open door.

"We were wondering if you'd ever show up." Blake leaned off the doorframe and moved towards the shivering man.

"Graceful Lord, watch over us in this dark hour…" The man backed slowly, rubbing his fingers together as if he were holding an invisible rosary.

Norman shook off his apprehension, and forced himself to step forward. "Nathaniel Williams?" The man's head darted left and right. Norman took a deep breath. "Nathaniel, I'm Agent Norman Jayden, FBI. We'd just like to ask you a few questions."

The man mumbled frantic prayers, spinning slowly on the spot so he backed into the far corner. His eyes flicked from Norman to Blake so quickly they were nearly a blur.

"It's alright, we're not here to hurt you," said Norman. He felt his frustration boil as Blake paced back and forth in front of Nathaniel like a predator. "We just want to talk, that's all."

"As God is my witness, I'm His humble servant, praying only for the salvation of the souls that have strayed from the path of the Lord." Nathaniel watched Blake with narrowed eyes. "And to defend the innocent in prayer from the darkness of evil."

Norman folded his arms and pressed a knuckle to his bottom lip. "Nathaniel… you were involved in a police investigation several weeks ago, weren't you? A child abduction?"

Nathaniel's twitching eyes remained locked on Blake who leaned against the wall next to him. "Lost souls… led down into the pit of temptation and fire. I prayed for them. I prayed so long…"

"That's because you killed them, didn't you Nathaniel?" said Blake. Norman shot him a furrowed glare, but Blake gazed sideways at Nathaniel.

"Look, we're not accusing you of anything." Norman stepped closer. "Another kid's been kidnapped. We just want to know if you have any information that would lead us to find the person responsible."

"Or you could just turn yourself in now." Blake shifted against the wall. "Save us the trouble."

"If you saw anything at the park this morning, or anything suspicious in the past week for that matter." Norman spoke loudly, turning his head slightly in Blake's direction. "I understand you often preach there."

"I am innocent of any murder. I'm blessed by His holy light and spread His word through prayer." Faint cuts appeared on Nathaniel's fingers as he clenched his nails repeatedly into his skin.

"You aren't blessed by shit," said Blake. "Why don't you just tell us where you've got the kid this time?"

"Blake, that's enough!" Norman felt his face heat up.

"What did you do to them, huh?" Blake pushed off from the wall and Nathaniel cowered. "Did you bury their faces in the water and drown them?"

"For fuck's sake, Blake, shut up!" Norman moved forward.

"Demon…" Nathaniel's eyes lit in horror as he stared into space. "She-devil!"

Blake turned, his face lined with confusion, and Norman followed his gaze. Gibbons stood in the doorway, her mouth slightly open as she looked between the three men. She clutched either side of the doorframe, narrowing her eyes in question.

Norman shook his head slightly in frustration. "Look, all we're asking─"

Blake grunted as he was launched back by the force of the small man. Norman stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. There was a flash of silver, and Blake stood rigid as Nathaniel pinned himself to him, a knife held to Blake's throat.

Norman and Gibbons shouted at once.

"Nathaniel…" Norman struggled to keep his voice steady. "Nathaniel, put down the knife."

"The hour of shadows is upon us," whispered Nathaniel. "The time of the anti-Christ and the bride of Satan emerges! And the Lord has called on me to bring salvation to humanity!"

"Jayden, what the fuck are you doing?" Blake groaned against the knife. "Shoot him!"

"You shall face the full glory of the Lord, son and bride of Satan!" There was a grinding as Nathaniel gritted his teeth.

"Nathaniel, just put down the knife, and we can all just walk away," said Norman. "You don't have to do this."

"For Christ's sake, just shoot the son of a bitch!" Blake screamed.

"Look…" Gibbon's shaky voice rose among the panic. "Look it's not worth it, Nate. God wouldn't want you to kill anyone."

Blake hissed as Nathaniel jabbed the knife further into his neck. "You will not speak of the Lord, leader of temptation! Sinner of lust and suicide!"

Gibbons seemed to freeze next to Norman. He glanced sideways at her, then waved his hands towards Nathaniel. "Come on, Nathaniel. You don't want to do this. We're here to help you."

Nathaniel shook his head furiously. "The she-devil speaks lies and deceit. She will lure you to a path of lust and false ecstasy, and crush you beneath the evil of oblivion!"

Something whipped out of the corner of Norman's vision, and he realized with a jolt that Gibbons had removed her firearm. She held it raised in both hands, her head tilted as she gazed at Nathaniel in an intense combination of fear and hatred that made her normally clueless face fiercely unrecognizable.

"...the fuck…" she whispered. Then her volume increased shakily. "...the _fuck_ did you just say?"

Norman's mind scrambled frantically as he struggled to make sense of the situation. He gave his head a shake, then shifted towards Gibbons, unsure of whether to touch her or not.

"Gibbons, I need you with me on this," he said. "Put your gun away."

"The world will be free of the anti-Christ and bride of Satan!" Nathaniel's voice broke into a maniacal laughter. "You shall no longer pollute this world with your deadly lust!"

"Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, _shut up!_ " Gibbons' arms shook as she screamed. "You self-righteous shit!"

"Shoot him!" shouted Blake. "Just shoot him! What are you waiting for?"

"Blake, shut up!" Norman groaned under the weight of his panic. His attention darted like a bird caught in a cage. He had to do something quick. And he had to do it right. But how?

Norman reached for Gibbons, his hand trembling slightly. "Gibbons. Gibbons, look at me." Her breath labored through clenched teeth as the gun shook in her hand. "Gibbons, look at me."

Her eyes closed for a moment. Then she looked at Norman, a deep pain in her eyes. "He doesn't know," she said quietly. "He doesn't know me."

Norman placed his hand on her arm, forcing his hand to stay steady. "I need you to help me, Gibbons. I can't do this without you." Gibbons' eyes flashed back to Nathaniel, and her elbows bent slightly. Norman felt a small ounce of relief fill him. "That's it. Put the gun away."

Gibbons drew in a deep breath, and she sank to her knees, dropping the gun in one hand to the floor. Norman had no time to deal with her. He twisted back to Nathaniel, his heart pounding.

"See? No one wants to hurt you, Nathaniel." Norman stepped closer. "We're just going to leave here. It's okay."

Nathaniel shook his head, his eyes flashing wildly. "You've already been led astray by the wickedness of the anti-Christ and the she-devil. It's too late for your soul."

"Godammit, Jayden, he's gonna kill me!" Blake struggled against Nathaniel.

"Stay calm, Blake. We'll get out of this." Norman gazed at Nathaniel fiercely. "We're all going to get out of this, right Nathaniel?"

"The only way to the path of light is through His grace." Nathaniel flexed his fingers on the knife. "Through the path of righteousness. And the purity of sacrifice!"

"No one's going to do that, Nathaniel. We're going to leave here and not bother you again, right Blake?"

"Are you fucking kidding? Will you get this crazy freak off me!"

"Save your souls before it is too late! Accept the grace of God into your hearts, and I banish thee evil shadows into the darkest depths of Hell!"

"I'll repent."

Norman felt his body grow cold. He turned to Gibbons who was still slumped on the floor, her arms crossed over her knees and her pistol lying a few feet away. She raised her head slightly, her face lined with focus. "I want to repent."

A glint of silver flashed as Nathaniel pointed the knife towards her. "You wish to banish your darkness from this world? You accept the Lord Jesus into your heart and surrender your soul back to the darkness of Hell?"

Norman was speechless. He gazed at Gibbons who looked up at Nathaniel. "Yes," she said. "Get rid of it. Just do it."

Nathaniel pushed Blake forward, who also seemed lost for words. Nathaniel stood over her, raising the dagger high over her head. Norman struggled to move forward. To speak. To do anything at all.

"Then I purge thee, bride of Satan and shadow of death and lust, from this world of righteous souls in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ!" Nathaniel's eyes glowed madly. "I cast you back into the pits of despair which you─"

There was a loud snap as the knife flew through the air and fell spinning across the floor. Nathaniel grunted under Blake's punches, and he doubled over with his mouth open in a silent scream. Blake yanked Nathaniel's arms behind his back. "I don't know about you," he growled "but I'm sick of this god damn religious fuckery."

Norman's senses seemed to come back to him one at a time. He stood still for a moment, then rushed forward as Blake snapped handcuffs onto Nathaniel's wrists. "Christ, you okay, Blake?"

Blake eyes narrowed at Norman as he hauled the whimpering man onto his feet. "Do I look fucking okay? Next time do me a favor and just shoot the bastard."

Norman sighed heavily. He wasn't sure he could handle much more stress without collapsing. He turned toward Gibbons, but paused when he realized she had disappeared. He gazed around the room, and a shadow fell across him as the light in the doorway was blocked. He had just enough time to see the silhouette of Gibbons' cap and pony tail as she strode out the door, and vanished down the stairwell without a word.

* * *

The rain was muffled into light taps as Norman maneuvered into the driver's seat and slammed the car door shut. Through the drips of the rainwater against the windshield, he could just make out the blurred shapes of Blake and Nathaniel among the flashing lights of the police vehicles. Norman leaned forward and ruffled the water out of his hair, then leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh.

Gibbons stared away from him out the window in the passenger seat beside him. She hadn't made any indication that she acknowledged him in any way, and somehow Norman felt it would be offensive to get her attention. He picked at the steering wheel, glancing up through the windshield occasionally. The pitter-patter of rainwater seemed to fill the space with intense roaring, and not for the first time since he arrived in Philadelphia, Norman wished the rain would stop.

He finally turned to Gibbons. He hadn't taken the time to simply look at her. She seemed so delicate and frail, the sharp angles of her nose and jawline more akin to a helpless girl than a trained cop. And despite his frustration with her, he couldn't help but feel a slight pity for that outward, clueless appearance.

He shifted slightly in his seat, and softened his voice as best he could. "What happened back there, Gibbons?"

For a moment, he wondered if she'd even heard him. He instantly regretted saying anything, but continued to gaze at her as if that would spur her to reply. He contemplated leaving the car, but Gibbons suddenly turned her head. She stared at the glove compartment, her lips pursed as though she were struggling to keep from shouting. Then she closed her eyes.

"Before I was promoted," she said, and Norman was taken aback by the sincerity in her voice, "I um─" She turned to him and smiled slightly. "I had a partner. We were pretty close. Probably a little too close." She tilted her head a bit. "Yeah… we were too close."

She drummed her fingers on her pant leg. "He killed himself two years ago. Said we were living in a fantasy and he needed to live in the real world." She drew her thumb across her bottom lip. "God, that was two years ago already." She turned her head to Norman, and her eyes narrowed. "No one knew about our relationship. _No one_. How the hell did Nathaniel know…?"

The roaring of the rain filled the silence again, and Norman scratched the leather of the shifter as he absorbed her words. He'd barely been in Philadelphia for more than a day, and yet he felt more and more with each passing hour that he was beginning to root in this place. As much as he hated the rain, as much as he hated Philadelphia, he felt like he belonged.

He glanced up at her, and smiled. "Maybe you're more transparent than you think."

She was quiet for a moment, then she laughed. "Yeah." She looked back out the window. "That's for sure."

Norman breathed in a sigh. "You know, Gibbons, you really shouldn't doubt yourself so much." He flattened his palm on the shifter and watched the rainwater. "I bet you're a lot more confident than you think."

"I know." She twisted towards him. "And Jayden─" She was quiet for a moment, then looked at him with a hint of a smile in her eyes. "Call me Ashley."

Norman laughed lightly. Somehow, he'd forgotten that she wasn't normally serious. "As long as you call me Norman."

She nodded. "Deal, Nahman."


	5. Chapter 5: Good Cop, Bad Cop

"I'm going to ask you again, Nathaniel. Where is Shaun Mars?"

"I remember every soul I've prayed for. I've told you, I know nothing about Shaun Mars."

"You don't remember anything about a boy you kidnapped this morning? Or about eight other kids you've drowned in a god damn tank of rainwater?"

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain!"

"Where is he? Nathaniel!"

"I don't know!"

Norman sighed and lowered his head as he watched Blake and Nathaniel, clasping his hands together and pressing his knuckles against his mouth. He wanted to go back into the ARI, but he couldn't leave the room knowing that Blake was interrogating an innocent man. Every minute that passed was a minute wasted that could be spent finding the killer. But Blake had his own agenda, and unfortunately for Norman, he was tied to it as well.

"I'll make a deal with you, Nathaniel." Blake leaned against the table, and Nathaniel shrank back into his chair. "You tell us where you've got the kid, and I'll pay for a first-class trip all the way to the fucking Vatican. I'll make you the god damn Pope."

Nathaniel shook his head violently, and glared up at Blake. "And the Lord is my shepherd, guiding me from the temptations and lies of the fallen angel, Lucifer."

For a moment, the room was silent. Norman looked back and forth between the two men, and silently hoped they'd reached a stalemate. It was about time they got some actual work done.

Blake twisted and looked at the reflective window behind him. "Taylor, I think I've had about enough of this religious bullshit."

A garbled voice rang through the intercom. "Got it."

Blake stood up slowly. Norman straightened his shoulders, feeling the energy flow back into him. Finally they were done wasting time.

Nathaniel let out a choked yelp as Blake descended on him, hooking his left arm around Nathaniel's throat. The small man kicked at the table and flung his arms wildly.

"Blake!" Without thinking, Norman rushed at the two men, grabbing a hold of Blake's shoulders in attempt to pry him off. Blake jerked, and Norman's right eye exploded in pain. He fell backward against the wall, pressing his palm against his eye as it watered furiously.

"You gonna tell us now, huh?" Blake growled over Nathaniel's labored gasps. "God isn't gonna do shit for you now, Nathaniel. Tell us where he is!"

Norman forced himself onto his feet, struggling to get his nerves in order. He pushed off the wall and barreled into Blake, locking his arm against his chest. Blake bucked and twisted.

"Get the fuck off me! Fucking prick!" The room spun as Norman was thrown in the air, and he cried out as the breath was blown from his lungs. He rolled on his side sucking in air. Above him, Nathaniel hunched in his chair, panting heavily.

Blake's shiny black shoes obscured Norman's vision. Then Norman was yanked upwards by the collar, and found himself nose to nose with Blake's furious face. "What the fuck is wrong with you, _Nor_ man?" Blake shouted in his face. "You wanna catch the Origami Killer or not?"

"Hey, Blake." The intercom rang again. "Hey the mother of the missing kid is here to see you."

"Tell her to fuck off!" Blake shoved and Norman hit the wall, his mind swimming. He scrambled to get a better view of Nathaniel, and felt a small relief to see the man curled onto the chair with his legs drawn up.

"She says she may have information about the identity of the Origami Killer."

Norman's body went numb for a second. He looked up at Blake, who stood frozen.

"We already got him," said Blake. "Did she say it was this pussy right here?" Blake smacked the back of Nathaniel's head, and Nathaniel curled into a tighter ball.

"Nah. She said she thinks it's her husband."

The room was silent for a moment. Norman watched the two men, and Blake ran a hand across his bearded face. Blake muttered a noise, then strode quickly to the door, flinging it open and disappearing on the other side.

Norman rushed to Nathaniel, relief flowing through him. "Shh, it's okay." He helped Nathaniel into a sitting position as Nathaniel sobbed quietly. "I'm real sorry about that guy. He's going to be reported for this."

Nathaniel clutched the front of Norman's jacket and gazed at him with bloodshot eyes. "You mustn't trust the lies of the deceiver. Your soul will be damned if you conspire with the demons."

Norman backed away, pulling gently at Nathaniel's hands. "Look, he may be a cop, but he's not going to get away with this. I promise."

Nathaniel's hair whipped as he shook his head. "Not him. The she-devil." Norman paused, watching Nathaniel curiously. "The Lord is forgiving of many temptations, natural or unnatural. But she is an evil like no other." Nathaniel pulled himself closer, and Norman's gut twisted. "Let your temptations go, and accept the Lord into your heart before it's too late."

Norman wrenched the man's hands off his jacket and stepped backward, his heart pounding. Without another word to Nathaniel, he moved quickly to the door and exited the room.

Fresh sweat beaded his face, and for a moment Norman worried he would have another episode. He dug into his pocket for a vial but stopped as powerful anxiety flowed through him. That man was insane. Temptations? It really was religious bullshit. But somehow it gave Norman chills. He couldn't possibly mean the ARI and the triptocaine…

Norman gave his head a shake. He was just a crazy man with a knack for coincidence. Blake was as close to the anti-Christ as any human on earth could get. But Ashley Gibbons was about as much of a devil as an infant learning to walk. It didn't mean anything. And Norman didn't have time to worry about whether a religious nut was telling the truth or not.

He strode down the hallway and entered the lobby which seemed much busier now that it was midday. He scanned the cubicles and saw the back of Blake's form near the entrance. Norman moved quickly, dodging the officers passing by. As he approached the entrance, he felt his face heat up.

"Blake, if you think you can man-handle the suspects without getting reported─" Norman stopped as Blake turned to him and exposed a red-haired woman whose face was streaked with tears. Ashley had her arm around her shoulder and looked up at Norman as he approached.

"We know who the killer is," said Blake. "I'm leaving right now to apprehend him." Blake moved away, and Norman scrambled to organize his thoughts.

"Are you absolutely sure this time?" said Norman. "Or do you need to rough him up a bit first?"

Blake froze, and for the first time, Norman felt a twinge of fear. Blake spun around and marched to him, and it took everything in Norman's power to stand still. His jaw tensed as Blake leaned into him.

"Listen, you entitled FBI faggot," Blake growled in his ear. "You get in my way one more time, and I'll be sending you back to Washington myself in a fucking lunchbox." He turned away and walked through the doors.

Norman sighed heavily, putting his forehead in his hands and letting the stress leak away. There were voices and movement around him, but he could hardly focus. This job was going to kill him in more ways than one.

He felt a hand on his upper arm, and looked up into Ashley's face. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at his eye. "Jesus Christ, what happened in there?" she said.

He shook his head and motioned towards the red-haired woman who was walking away with a few officers. "What did she say?"

Ashley nodded her head and her shoulders tensed. "That her husband, Ethan Mars, is the Origami Killer." She raised her thumb to her lip, then dropped it quickly. "He showed up at her house a few months ago in the middle of the night in something of a fugue state. Said something about people drowning. And the next day we found the seventh victim." Norman scratched the back of his neck as Ashley shifted next to him. "You think he could be the killer?"

Norman stared at the floor. "I won't know until I do some research. Or until Blake drags him in." He ran both of his hands down his face, flinching when he touched his eye.

Ashley gazed at him. "Want me to get some ice?"

Norman smiled, and rubbed his eye carefully. He hoped it wouldn't have an effect on the ARI. He needed to use it quickly before Blake arrived, and he felt an unexpected pang of doubt. He didn't want anyone to interfere with the ARI, and most certainly didn't want anyone to be aware of his reaction to overuse. Ashley was hard enough to get rid of as it was, and despite his growing comfort to the environment, Norman couldn't help but think back on Nathaniel's ravings.

He breathed out slowly. "Actually, I think you should go with Blake," he said. "He shouldn't be trying to apprehend a suspect by himself."

Ashley stared at him for a moment, then snorted in laughter. "What, are you trying to get rid of me?" She laughed, then her smile slowly faded and her eyebrows narrowed in an awkward frown. "Oh."

"Look, I'm not trying to get rid of you." Norman felt exasperation rise in his chest. "I just need a clear head working in this case, and I'm not really used to working with other people."

"No, it's okay." Ashley ran her thumb over her lip. "I mean, I understand I can be kind of… strange sometimes." Norman watched her as she scratched a spot near her mouth, her eyes glazed over. She looked at him and smiled lightly. "Well, I'll give you a call if we find anything, and..." She gave a small wave. "...good luck."

Norman stood still as she disappeared through the sliding glass doors. Though he couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed, a growing relief eased his mind. There were several reasons why he worked alone. People like Blake were definitely one of them. It was easy to tell himself that he simply didn't like to be around other people, but if he were truthful, the ARI and the triptocaine were always on the back of his mind.

Norman glanced up at the clock. Blake was gone, Ashley was after him, and the clock was ticking. He turned and headed through the cubicles. He already had his glasses on and was fitting the glove before he was even halfway to his office. The office door opened into a black abyss, and Norman stepped into the darkness with the canopy of bioluminescence dancing above him. The door slammed shut behind him, fading away into the darkness.

He moved quickly to the desk in the spotlight, and a huge gray flipper drifted inches over his head. Norman ducked underneath it. "Look, it's not my fault you're fictional and you can't eat," he muttered. The monster groaned in complaint as Norman slid into his seat.

Pressing his fingers together, he formed a square in front of him. "Ethan Mars," he said. "Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." He drew his hands apart and a list of names scrolled downwards, ticking with every selection. It slowed as it neared the bottom, and a bar flashed. The bar expanded, revealing the image of a dark haired man with slanted eyebrows. White text trickled next to the image, displaying a quick summary.

"Ethan Mars, September fifth, 1973…" Norman mumbled as he scanned the summary. "... architect, Grace Mars, Shaun Mars, Jason…" He leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his fist. "Son killed in a car accident in 2009. Ethan Mars in a coma for six months, separated…" He flicked his finger upward to scroll the text as he read further down the lines. "Clinical depression, no known health conditions, five foot eleven, brown hair, blue eyes, Crown Victoria, Verizon Wireless." He leaned back in his chair. "This is the Origami Killer?"

He stared at the summary for a moment, then leaned forward and pulled down the scroll of paper with his left hand. He touched his little finger and thumb to the two screens, highlighting sections of the summary with his gloved hand. His temples tingled and his eye began to throb as white lines criss-crossed between the profile and the summary. They flashed red as they connected, drawing new white lines where the red ones failed. As they crossed, Norman shook his head in frustration. "There's no way this is him." He flicked his hand sideways and the profile zoomed away. "Shit, Blake's got the wrong guy."

Norman pulled off his glasses and the black ocean vanished. As much as he never wanted to speak to him again, he couldn't just sit idly by while Blake abused another innocent man. He held up his cell phone and punched in Blake's number, sighing through clenched teeth as the phone buzzed. There was a click, and Blake's recorded voice echoed through the speaker.

"You've reached Lieutenant Carter Blake of the Philadelphia police department. Leave a message."

"Blake." Norman bent over his desk as he spoke into the phone. "Ethan Mars is not the Origami Killer. His profile is nowhere near the same as the killer's. So do the man a favor and try not to beat him into another coma." He cancelled the call and tossed the phone so that it clattered across his desk.

Norman slumped against the arm of his chair and put his forehead in his hand. It was probably already too late. Blake was most likely halfway back to the station with a half-dead father of a kidnapped son. Norman ran his hand down his face and sighed. They were nowhere near to finding the Origami Killer, and it was already afternoon of the first day. If he didn't start making progress soon, he'd have to put in a call to Washington and investigate the ninth victim of the Origami Killer.

A streak of anger coursed through him. This would be a hell of a lot simpler if Blake would just cooperate, or at least conduct the search within legal bounds. They already wasted two hours because Blake wanted to beat the truth out of Nathaniel, and now he was off on another fruitless case of abuse. If Norman could put anything right, he could at least hit Blake where it hurt.

He peeled off his glove and snatched his glasses off the desk. Captain Perry didn't respect Norman, but there was no way he could ignore police brutality.

As Norman pushed away from the desk, a line of red suddenly caught his attention. He paused, studying a small red smudge on the dusty desk. The familiar cloud of dread fell over him. It couldn't be…

Norman looked down at his hand, which was stained with blood. His heart hammered, and he quickly dabbed his upper lip, bringing back fresh blood on his fingers.

"Fuck…" He stood up quickly, and the room spun around him. He groped for stability on the desk, but he fell sideways as if he were pulled by the shoulders. A sharp cry burst from him as he hit the floor, scattering papers from a nearby dusty stack. The room faded in and out of focus, and Norman felt his limbs tingle. He couldn't afford this. Not now. There wasn't enough time.

The triptocaine. He had to take it. Norman rolled onto his side, struggling to lift his hand into his pocket, but his arms felt about thirty pounds too heavy. With all his strength, he dragged his arm up and fumbled into his pocket. He was losing control. The room grew dark around him, and Norman was suddenly plunged into blackness. Panic racked his nerves. Biting his lip, he closed his fist and brought his hand up to his face.

Something clinked next to him, and a pit of despair flooded through him as he heard the glass vial roll across the dirty floor. The triptocaine… there was no way he'd find it now, let alone have enough motor control to open the tab and inhale it. Norman fell back and stared up at the black ceiling. The pins and needles slowly crept up his arms and legs, taking over his whole body. This was it. He'd really lost it this time.

The floor tipped slowly back and forth underneath him as if he were on a ship at sea. He closed his eyes and swallowed. There was no point in fighting it now. It wouldn't be too long, and there was still a chance that no one would find him before he woke up. He gave a mental laugh as his thoughts shrank away.

It'd definitely make Blake's day to see him right now.


	6. Chapter 6: Separate Ways

"Oh god… oh god oh god, don't do this... come on! Wake up!"

There was a sharp crack, and Norman gasped as his cheek stung like fire. Groggily his senses came back to him, and he held the side of his face.

It took him a moment to realize someone was shaking him. His head felt like it was about to burst at his temples, and his body ached as if he'd fallen down a flight of stairs. He waved a hand and felt it hit something.

"I'm alright. I'm alright." He pushed off the floor. Someone was clutching his hand, and as his vision focused, Ashley's worried face came into view. She wiped his cheek with her thumb.

"Jesus, Norman," she said, her voice trembling. "You're covered in blood…"

Despite his foggy mind, Norman forced himself to think of something fast. He shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I guess I must've fallen asleep at my desk. Maybe hit my head on the way down." He rubbed his cheek. "Did you slap me?"

Ashley's face turned white, and her wide eyes froze for a moment. "I thought you were _dead!_ " she said quickly. "I've been trying to call you for over an hour and I came into your office and found you flat on the floor with blood all over your face─ I didn't know what to do." She sat back and drew her knees up, locking her arms around them. "You scared the shit out of me, Norman."

He gave his head a shake as his thoughts began to connect. At least it was Ashley and not Blake that had found him. He didn't want to imagine what would have happened if they had seen him in full withdrawal. With a slight pang of worry, Norman cast his eyes around the floor for the blue vial. It was nowhere to be seen, and he guessed it had rolled underneath one of the piles of newspapers.

He looked at Ashley who was still watching him intently, pressing her thumb to her bottom lip so that her lip turned pale. "Where's Blake?" he asked. "Did he arrest Ethan Mars?"

Ashley shook her head. "He wasn't anywhere in his house. Blake checked pretty thoroughly." She dropped her hand against her knee. "But we got a call from the highway patrol. Sheriff said he spotted a red Pontiac Sentra going against traffic on the freeway. They chased it for about five miles before it went off the freeway and flipped, but the police said they saw a man who looked a lot like Ethan Mars leave the scene."

Norman was silent for a moment as he absorbed the information. "He was driving against traffic on the freeway?" He pushed himself onto his feet and Ashley stood with him, holding onto his arm to steady him. "Where's the car now?"

"In about a million pieces." She bit her lip. "It must have been rigged with explosives. The whole thing exploded about a minute after it flipped."

As shocking as the story was, a swell of frustration rose in him. If the car was destroyed, there'd be no evidence left to analyze with the ARI. Even so, he felt strangely relieved. Odd behavior was significant behavior, and for the first time since the start of the investigation, Norman had something to follow.

"I need to talk to Blake." He moved to the door, but his arm was pulled as Ashley held him back.

"Looking like that?" She moved in front of him, her eyebrows narrowed in worry. "Norman, have you _seen_ your face?"

He scratched his upper lip, and several flakes of dried blood floated to the floor. "Well, keep an eye on him at least," he said. "Just in case he decides to leave." He opened the door and stepped quickly to the side, heading for the restroom.

Thankfully there was no one inside, and Norman rested both hands against the sink as he leaned over it. Judging by how his skin itched and Ashley's reaction, his face was probably horrific. He raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to contain a small laugh. It wasn't that bad. The inside of his right eye had darkened to a deep purple with a ring of green, and a river of dark blood split apart at his nose, cascading down his cheek and creating droplets on his neck. Somehow it had missed his suit, though his suit still looked just as beaten and drab as before.

Norman turned the tap, and splashed cold water on his face, turning the sink a bright pink. He scrubbed his skin hard and glanced up in the mirror to be sure he hadn't missed any wayward rivers of blood. There was nothing he could do about his black eye, but at least he didn't look like he'd been recently mugged.

He stepped back into the lobby and headed straight for Blake's desk. Over the cubicles, he spotted Blake hunched over his desk, phone pressed to his ear. The tension rose in Norman's chest. The lobby seemed to provide exposure to Blake's aggressive behavior, but Norman felt nervous all the same.

"... just keep your eye out for it." Blake's voice rose over the office noise. "If you see him anywhere or you see his car, call me immediately." Norman approached as Blake set down the phone.

"Did you get my message?" said Norman. Blake turned slowly and glared at Norman with a tense jaw.

"What message?" said Blake.

Norman sighed and dropped his shoulders. "I don't think Ethan Mars is the Origami Killer. His psychological profile doesn't match─"

"Does it look…" Blake stepped closer, his eyes lit with energy. "... like I give a _shit_ what you think?" Norman forced himself to stand level with Blake but felt his legs grow weak. "Ethan Mars kidnapped and drowned eight kids because he's biffed over the death of his son," Blake continued. "And now he's going to kill his other son. And I'm gonna stop him. So why don't you skip back to your little office," Blake twitched his fingers in the direction of Norman's office, "and leave me the fuck alone."

The sides of Norman's vision turned red as he felt his face flush. Without another word, Norman turned and headed to the captain's office. This had gone far enough. If Blake wanted a war, he was going to get it.

Norman burst into Captain Perry's office without knocking. Perry looked up at him from his desk, tilting his phone sideways with narrowed eyes. He stammered as he spoke into his phone.

"Yes, yes I'll make sure I call them today. Listen, I'll talk to you soon." Perry dropped the phone on the receiver. "Jayden, what are you─"

"Are you aware of Lieutenant Blake's complete disregard for police protocol," Norman stepped toward the desk, his face heating up, "and blatant police brutality?"

Perry sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. Norman pointed to the lobby. "He's already tried to strangle an innocent man in the interrogation room, and now he's on a useless hunt because he believes the father of Shaun Mars is the Origami Killer."

"Jayden, I told you Lieutenant Blake's methods were a bit extreme," said Perry, leaning forward and looking Norman in the eye. "And I put you two together because I wanted you to sort out your differences."

A flash of fury streaked through Norman's body. He clenched the back of the chair in front of him. "With all due respect, captain," said Norman, struggling to keep his voice under control. "This has nothing to do with my opinion of Lieutenant Blake. This is strictly a matter of police code violation and Blake's disregard for not only the law, but the lives of innocent people."

"The lives of innocent people?" Perry tilted his head. "I'm sorry Jayden, but I put the lieutenant on this case in particular because of his dedication to saving lives. He's had the most effective methods so far, and I trust in his ability to get this case solved."

Norman was dumbstruck. He shifted his weight, struggling to organize his thoughts. "I was sent here because your department needed help in finding the Origami Killer. Since I arrived, Blake's shown nothing but contempt and doesn't listen to anything I say. How the hell am I supposed to work with that?"

Perry folded his hands together. "Well, if you remember, Agent Jayden." A pit of despair filled Norman's chest. "We didn't ask for the FBI's help in this case. You were sent here by Washington to help us. And if you want to help us then it's in your best interest to follow Lieutenant Blake and aid him in whatever way he thinks will solve the case."

A sharp breath escaped Norman's lungs, and he ran a furious hand through his hair. "Are you telling me to beat the shit out of suspects if that's what Blake wants?"

For a moment, Perry simply stared at him. Then he picked up a file and flipped through it. "I'm telling you if you want to help solve this case, you're going to have to work with us, not against us." He glanced up at Norman. "That's all I have to say about this."

Norman was frozen on the spot, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to suspect the department of its disdain towards him, but to actually see it right in front of him…

He turned and marched to the door. He was going to have to solve this on his own. And now he wasn't just competing against the death of Shaun Mars, but against Blake as well. He launched the door open, mind racing with rage.

"Norman─" A pair of hands bumped into his chest, and Norman found himself nose-to-nose with Ashley's clueless face. A pang of shock mingled with his rage, and he stopped as Ashley ran a thumb over her lip, stepping backward. "Sorry…" She pointed over her shoulder. "Blake just left."

A jet of frustration bolted through him at the mention of Blake. Norman moved out of the captain's office, letting the door close behind him. "Did he say where he was going?"

"I heard him mention on the phone that he was going on patrol to look for Ethan Mars' car." Ashley walked with him. "He's got practically the whole department looking for him. My car's out front. I'm gonna go after him and give you a call if anything happens."

Norman stopped in the middle of the lobby. He put his forehead in his hand. There was no point. Blake had his own schedule, and Norman was going to have to come up with a new one. If he was going to make any headway, he'd have to do what he did best.

He put his hand in his pocket, fumbling with the glasses. Ashley had already seen him passed out. There was no way he was going to let anyone see his full-blown withdrawal. But if he was going to find any clues about the actual killer, he'd need to go in deep. Deeper than he'd ever gone before. He'd have to make sure the triptocaine was easily accessible this time. And he'd also have to make sure no one would interrupt him, no matter what.

Norman looked at Ashley who was still watching him expectantly. He sighed. "Look, Ashley…"

Ashley's already worried eyes widened. "Oh shit," she said, laughing lightly. " _Look Ashley_."

"Look. I know you want to help me with this, but─" He gazed away from her and scratched the back of his head. "I work alone. That's all there is to it." The sympathy faded from his voice as he spoke bluntly. "I have a set of methods that I use to work on cases, and it means I don't really have time to involve other people. And frankly… you're just going to slow me down."

Ashley stared at him blankly. "Chasing after Blake and helping you off the floor after you passed out is slowing you down?"

Norman smacked his forehead. This was getting harder by the second. "Ashley…" He tensed his hands in front of him, searching for the right words. "You're in my way. I just… I don't understand you. It's like you don't have a clue. How you manage to set one foot in front of the other without falling on your face is a complete mystery to me." He sighed as Ashley's gaze lowered. "I mean, from what I've seen in the last several hours, it doesn't surprise me at all that the Origami Killer is so damn successful. This whole─" Norman motioned around him towards the cubicles, "─fucking department is just one giant joke. And I don't have the patience for it anymore."

It seemed straightforward in his head, but every word weighed him down. And Ashley's expression didn't make things easier. She pursed her lips and glanced around as if looking for something clever to say. The sounds of the office seemed to rise to a roar, and the seconds seemed like ages.

"Well, I… um…" Ashley's clueless expression danced across her face, mingled in frustration. "I understand. I mean, I _don't_ understand─" She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Then she looked at Norman with the most forced serious expression Norman had seen so far. "But I hear you."

Norman didn't think his stress could get any higher. Though a weight was off his shoulders for venting steam, he hadn't meant to be so blunt. He made to touch her shoulder, but froze at the last second, dropping his arm to his side. There was no point in drawing it out. Without a glance, he moved through the cubicles, leaving Ashley standing alone.

What's done was done. Norman pushed his guilty thoughts from his mind, forcing his attention on the task at hand. He opened the door to his office and stepped through, closing the door behind him. A surge of frustration rose in him, and he stepped sideways to the nearest stack of boxes, pushing it in front of the door for good measure.

This time he had to be prepared. Norman dug in his pocket for a blue vial, and set it in the center of the desk before sitting down. Then he flexed the glove onto his hand and slipped the glasses on, plunging back into the cavernous sea.

"Alright." He tapped the surface of the desk. "It's just you and me now, Nessie." The desk rumbled as a low moan echoed above him.

Norman pulled up the file, splaying the pages so that they fanned in a circle. Clearly he was missing something. If Ethan Mars wasn't the Origami Killer, then there had to be a reason for his erratic behavior. Norman flicked through the pages and pulled free the summary of Ethan Mars. He pressed his left hand against the page, then drew a line outwards with his gloved hand, creating a separate screen. His temples buzzed, and Norman gave his head a shake. He hadn't even gotten started yet.

He pulled his gloved hand further to the right, and a series of images and text appeared, flicking quickly as if he were watching a video sped up. The tension was taught, like an invisible line between his hands. He pulled harder, increasing the speed of images and information, absorbing as much as he could. Family pictures, a younger Ethan holding his newborn son, his wife and sons in a kiddy pool, a young boy playing tug of war with a toddler, Ethan grinning as he held his laughing boys under each arm…

Then the images changed entirely. A hospital bed where Ethan lay asleep, a crowd in black on a hill of tombstones, Ethan leaving the hospital with a weak smile, holding his younger son against his chest, a young boy sitting alone in a park, Ethan in a dingy apartment stacked with moving boxes…

Norman dropped his hands, breathing heavily as his head throbbed. Nothing. There was nothing in the images or history that spoke "killer." One extremely sad man, maybe, but not serial killer. There had to be an obvious clue somewhere. But where?

He flicked his gloved hand, sending away the pictures, and tossed Ethan's page back into the file which spun idly. There had to be a connection among all these killings. Something all the dead children had in common. Norman ticked his gloved finger at different pages of the file, dropping down each child's page side-by-side on the desk in front of him. Why would the killer choose these boys in particular?

Norman rested his cheek against his fist as he moved the pages around. There had to be something they shared in common. They were all boys. All roughly the same age. Their ethnicities were different. Including Shaun Mars, four of the boys were white, two were hispanic, one was asian, and two were African American. Norman scattered the papers and he analyzed each one. They were taken from families of various incomes. They all had siblings, and all had a mother and father that were present. No signs of obvious abuse or neglect, though some parents were divorced and no longer speaking.

Norman spun the file in casual circles as he flicked through each page. Shaun Mars was completely inconspicuous, just like the rest of the victims. That was something they had in common. They were all average. Norman sighed heavily at the thought. Completely average kids from average homes killed by an invisible murderer who drove an average car and had an average shoe size. The only noticeable detail so far was Ethan's reckless driving.

Perhaps all the fathers had a history of insanity. Norman pressed his hand to each page, studying the parents. Average wives, average husbands. Every mother had been questioned so far, with little to no information given. The fathers on the other hand…

Norman leaned forward, lining the pages in front of him. The first father hadn't been located. He was considered estranged from the family. The second father was declared missing several days after his son was kidnapped, presumed AWOL in response to the Origami Killings. The third father was found dead in his study via gunshot to the head. Norman's heart quickened as he flicked through each one. The fourth father had vanished two days after his son was kidnapped. The fifth father appeared to have gone insane soon after the body of his son was found. The sixth father: missing. Seventh father: dead. The eighth father had been declared missing the day before.

Norman fell back into his chair, a haunting realization spreading through him. All the fathers, including Ethan Mars, had either disappeared or worse after their sons were kidnapped.

There was still one father left. Norman flicked the page of the fifth father so that it hovered in front of him. Thomas Roman, thirty-six. Suffering from paranoid schizophrenia despite no prior history of mental illness. He still lived at home alone, divorced from his wife of twelve years. Norman copied Roman's address into the ARI. Finally, he had something to go on.

He took a deep breath before he removed the glasses. The black sea melted away, and Norman stared at the wall ahead, clenching his fists.

A slight tremor started in his hands, and then the tingling began. Norman tensed his muscles. A wave of panic floated above him, and he felt his heart began to race. This was going to be huge.

He lunged forward, grasping the vial in both hands. In an instant, he popped the lid and inhaled deeply, coughing as the powder coated his throat. His face instantly warmed up as if he'd plunged into a hot bath, and the warmth spread outwards to his limbs. The shaking stopped, his heart calmed, and his head cleared.

Norman paused over the empty vial, catching his breath. Twice in one day. He'd have to keep it at a minimum. It was going to kill him otherwise.

He forced himself shakily from his desk, and crammed the ARI into his pocket. He had to get a move on if he was going to find the Origami Killer before Blake. The sounds of the office drifted through the door as he leaned forward against it, regaining his composure. That had been a major withdrawal. There was a chance he'd have to take more triptocaine later if it got any worse.

He kicked aside the stack of newspapers before opening the door and stepped into the lobby. The station was emptying of officers now that it was the afternoon, and Norman also suspected most of the officers were out looking for Ethan Mars with Blake. At least that made his job a little easier. Norman walked through the cubicles to the front doors, pulling his car keys from his pocket. As the glass doors opened, he stopped suddenly, glancing around the lobby. A heavy shame weighed on his shoulders.

As much as he didn't want to, he knew he'd run into Ashley sooner or later. He'd never been as angry as he was that afternoon, and despite the truth in his rant, he regretted laying all his frustrations on her all at once. Still, life was easier when he didn't have an awkward companion following him around asking pointless questions and stating the obvious.

He clenched his keys around his fingers and left the lobby, a strange anxiety tugging at his nerves. She might be clueless and awkward… but that was the most attention he'd gotten from the opposite sex in years.


	7. Chapter 7: The Well

If it was getting dark, Norman couldn't tell. The sky was just as black and stormy as ever, and the rain cast a haze over every light. The car rocked as he drove over the uneven pavement, sending up crashes of water which doused the windows even more. He leaned close to the steering wheel as he scanned the nearby houses. Calling it a rough neighborhood was an understatement. Some of the houses looked as if they had caught fire recently, and the others that survived were torn apart and boarded. Black figures stood in circles by the street, a few turning their hooded faces to watch his car as he passed. Norman felt nervous chills. He needed to be certain of the house if he wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble.

The numbers on the mailboxes were hard to read through a combination of rain, darkness, and scattered graffiti. Norman followed the numbers that he could read, and spotted the house of Thomas Roman on his right. The sight of it didn't make him feel any better. He pulled alongside the curb and stared up at the ruined house through the windshield. It was in somewhat better shape than the rest of the houses, but still nowhere near hospitable. The roof of the porch was slanted sideways, and the edges of the windows were oddly shaped as if they were held together with duct tape.

Norman did a nervous once-over of his car, and put a hand to his side to check for his firearm. Then with a deep breath, he opened his car door and stepped into the black rain. It was colder now that it was getting late, and Norman gripped his elbows tightly as icy water trickled through his hair and down his neck.

The rain cascaded in streams off the lopsided porch, and Norman darted under the shelter. Beyond the windows he could see a faint yellow light, though there was no movement. With anxious shivers, he knocked on the hollow wooden door.

There was no response. He knocked again and there was a scramble on the other side. The door creaked open a crack, and Norman shifted sideways to peer through.

"Thomas Roman?" said Norman. He squinted through the darkness, then something protruded from the crack. Norman jumped backward, yanking his pistol from his side. "Put the gun down!"

The long barrel of the rifle didn't move. Someone spoke from inside, and Norman moved forward cautiously so he was out of range of the rifle. "What did you say?" he called.

"I said show me your wrists!"

Over the pounding of his heart, Norman felt a dash of confusion. "Why?"

"Just do it! One wrist at a time."

Norman shook his head and breathed heavily. He was dealing with a paranoid schizophrenic after all. He stepped sideways to the door, and shook his hand upward so his jacket sleeve dropped closer to his elbow. Feeling slightly foolish as well as terrified, he held his left hand over the barrel of the rifle.

"Alright, now the other wrist."

He pulled his hand back, and switched the gun to his left hand. Dropping his sleeve back, he stretched his arm in front of the door.

The barrel of the rifle vanished inside the crack, and the door opened further. Norman held his pistol at the ready, forcing himself to stay focused.

A tall man stood in the doorway, framed by the dim yellow light from inside. Despite his shirt and tie which were well-pressed, he seemed worn down and beaten. He gazed at Norman with sunken eyes, and held his hands up. "It's okay. I've put my rifle down."

Norman glanced at the floor and saw the glint of the rifle on the entry mat. Relief flowed through him, and he jerked his pistol upward. "Back away."

The man stepped backward, and Norman quickly reached down, scooping the rifle in one arm. He tossed it to the side and held his pistol in both hands.

"I take it you're a cop?" said the man. "Or just a very polite burglar."

"I'm Agent Norman Jayden, FBI," said Norman. "Are you Thomas Roman?" The man nodded slowly, and stared at the floor. Norman felt his confidence rise a bit. "Alright, Mr. Roman. I'm going to put my gun away." Norman held his palm outward, turning the gun to the side, and slowly put his pistol in his jacket. Roman barely seemed to be paying attention to him, preferring to stare at the ground. Somehow, it made Norman feel safer, though his muscles were still tense from adrenaline. "I'm here to ask you some questions about your son. Do you mind if I come inside?"

Roman shook his head, and dropped his arms. "Not anymore, I guess." He turned slowly and motioned around him. "Watch for the string."

The thought of being alone with a schizophrenic was unnerving, but standing outside in the rain with shadowy strangers staring at him was worse. Norman shook off his apprehension and stepped inside the man's house. He gazed around curiously. It wasn't as bad as Nathaniel's apartment, but if Thomas Roman wasn't the father of one of the victims, Norman would have considered him a suspect.

Every window was covered with a sheet, tacked to the wall with nails. The doorways were bordered with mirrors, angled slightly like the mirrors of a car so that Norman could see around every corner. A network of strings criss-crossed each room from wall to wall, and Roman stepped casually around them as if they weren't even there. Norman stood still in the doorway, unsure of where to go. He closed the door behind him, and cleared his throat.

"Why all the strings?" he said. He couldn't be sure how sensitive Roman was of his condition, but the string was too obvious for Norman to ignore. Roman stood near an old leather couch and adjusted one of the mirrors.

"People have to step over them," said Roman. "The others go through them." He motioned towards Norman. "I'm sorry about needing to see your wrists. Had to make sure you were real."

Norman bottled his confusion and nodded. The more Roman spoke, the more interested Norman became in his mental state. He ducked underneath one of the strings and stood at the edge of the man's living room. "Mr. Roman, I'm investigating the Origami Killer. I understand your son was murdered by the Origami Killer last year."

Roman was silent as he busily cleaned one of the mirrors. Norman shifted slightly and scratched his neck. "I wanted to ask you if you noticed anything unusual at the time of your son's disappearance. Did anyone try to contact you, or did you see anything?"

Roman set the mirror against the wall. "Why are you asking me this now?" He began to unwind a string from a nail. "It's been a year."

"Another kid was kidnapped this morning," said Norman, watching the man's fingers. "The police suspect his father was involved. I'm trying to prove his innocence."

"And what's that got to do with me?" Roman followed the string, winding it around his hand as he walked.

"Because all of the fathers of the previous Origami victims have either disappeared or been killed," said Norman. "You're the only one left."

Roman stopped in the middle of the room, slowly winding the slack of the string around his finger. He looked at Norman, a sly smile in his eyes that gave Norman nervous chills. "And what makes you think I'm still alive?" said Roman. He tugged on the string, pulling the nail from the wall. "If you can call this living." He motioned around the room. "I call it purgatory."

Norman crossed his arms over his chest. "Your file said you had no history of mental illness, but after your son was killed, you were diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. What happened, Mr. Roman?"

Roman sighed as he continued to wind the string around his finger. "My son died. That's what happened." He moved across the room and tied the end of the string to another nail. "I didn't know losing your son wasn't enough to fry your brain."

"I'm not trying to say your son's death wasn't a tragedy," said Norman. "I'm saying paranoid schizophrenia isn't exactly what you'd expect from someone who's had a loss. Depression, maybe." He felt frustration leak through his nervousness. "There's something you're not telling me."

Roman's hands slowed. His head dropped slightly, and Norman leaned sideways a bit to see Roman's face more clearly. Then Roman turned, his eyes narrowed. "I've seen my son every day since the day he died." His fist clenched on the string. "I hear him in my sleep. I feel his hand in mine. And I can't save him." He moved towards Norman, pressing against the string. "I couldn't save him then, and I can't save him every single day afterwards. My wife calls me crazy because she can't see him, and I can't make her see him. He's going to haunt me for the rest of my life, so I deal with it." He fidgeted with the string in his hand, his eyes puffy and red.

Norman felt his shoulders sag. This man was suffering from a pain that Norman couldn't fathom. He ran a hand over his face. "What do you mean you couldn't save him? I'm sure the police did everything they could to find your son."

"It wasn't up to them." Roman shook his head, his eyes full of energy. "They did enough to say they tried. Meanwhile I suffered─" he yanked back the sleeve of his shirt "─and bled─" the shirt ripped as he pulled his other sleeve, revealing a network of scars along his arms "─burned─" Roman pulled at his tie and loosened his collar, exposing a star-shaped burn scar on his neck "─to save him. I gave everything, and it wasn't enough."

A strange silence fell over the room. Norman stared at the man's scars, an ominous intrigue creeping over him. "You got all that… because you were looking for your son?" Norman straightened and his heart began to pound. "Did you know where your son was?"

Roman barked a laugh, causing Norman to jump. Tears ran down the man's face as he backed against the wall. "Do you think… my son would be dead if I knew where he was?" His head tilted sideways, and his eyes focused on a spot near the hall.

Norman shook his head to clear his mind. The man was beginning to sink into a typical schizo meltdown. "Mr. Roman, I need you to tell me what happened after your son was kidnapped. Where did you start looking?"

Roman was silent, fresh sweat beading his face. He stared sideways, fumbling with the string in his hand. Norman stepped through the lines of string towards him, feeling his frustration begin to boil.

"You said you looked for him," said Norman. "Where did you start?"

Roman nodded his head slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Started at the show, remember? I knew when that green Camaro pulled up that you were just gonna be gone." He laughed and bowed his head. "Yep. Gone. I didn't even try to follow. Figured I'd just come grab you after about ten minutes or so." His shoulders shook as he began to sob. "I should have just gone with you. You're only twelve for god's sake."

"What about after that?" said Norman, struggling to keep his voice under control. "Who contacted you? How did you know where to start looking?"

"We should have just not gone at all." Roman shook his head. "It was pouring rain. They were having another show the next day, I mean with classic cars and I know you don't really like them. But at least…"

Norman put a hand on Roman's shoulder. "Mr. Roman, look at me." He gave the man's shoulder a shake. "Look over here."

Roman gazed at Norman, his eyes lighting up as if he'd just noticed him. "I um…" Roman shifted against the wall, narrowing his eyebrows.

"How did you know where to start looking for your son?" said Norman, his muscles tense with frustration.

Roman rubbed his forehead, his face focused as if he were struggling to remember. "I… it was in the box."

Norman straightened as he felt relief flow through him. Now they were getting somewhere. "A box. Okay, what was in the box?"

"My son," said Roman. "He was in the box."

Norman felt his gut wrench. He put a fist to his mouth. "Your son was in the box?"

Roman nodded, then tilted his head to the side. "I still have him. I burned the rest of it, but I still have him."

Despite the investigative side of him, Norman felt a deep disgust fill him. He leaned away from Roman, feeling his muscles tremble. "Can you show me?"

Roman glanced at the hall, and twisted the string around his finger. He tilted his head as if listening to something, then nodded. "Okay," said Roman, looking sideways at Norman. He moved past Norman, ducking into the living room near the television. "Okay, okay."

Norman watched as the man opened a drawer on the television stand and fumbled through the contents. As much as Norman didn't want to believe his story, and as much as it sickened him to know part of the boy was in a box, Norman felt an overwhelming excitement. He was on the clearest track that any officer had been in years.

Roman stood up, holding something small in his hand. He moved toward Norman, and held it out.

Norman gazed at the object, tension locking his whole body. Then he picked it up, holding it in the light. It was a cell phone.

He held the power button, cautious anticipation flowing through him. The buttons lit up white, and a loading bar appeared, filling slowly. Roman was quiet next to him, and Norman focused all his attention on the screen. The bar filled, and there was a garbled rush of sound as a video played. It took a moment for Norman to realize what he was looking at. A metallic circular floor, flooded with rainwater. And a steel grate in the center. Norman's heart hammered as the camera panned closer. Through the rush of rain, a young voice cried from the depths of the steel container. The camera zoomed close, and a pair of small hands reached up through the bars of the grate.

The video ended, and a message appeared in white: _How far are you prepared to go to save someone you love?_ The message vanished and a set of lines appeared, separated by random letters and numbers.

Norman breathed heavily as the realization hit him. "A trial…" He looked up at Roman who was still gazing at the end of the hall. "That's why he keeps them in a well instead of killing them outright. He's running a god damn trial." Norman pulled his glasses from his pocket and clumsily fitted his glove onto his hand, energy flowing through him. "Mr. Roman, who gave this to you?"

Roman was silent. As the ARI ticked in the corners of his vision, Norman held the phone in front of him. "ARI recording. Location four seven zero two three. Note date and time." The phone illuminated as he analyzed it. "Mr. Roman, you said this was in a box. Who gave it to you?"

Roman mumbled lightly as he moved toward the hallway. "No no, it's okay. See, step over it." Norman sighed as a list scrolled to the left of his vision.

"ARI, comment. The phone's an LG KM330," Norman mumbled the details. "No service. It was bought or donated, probably from a private sale. Reformatted to factory settings on April 7, 2009. 5 GB external memory with 4.2 GB remaining. Just enough to have a video on it." Norman pulled his gloved hand away from the phone, scanning it deeper. "Come on… where'd you come from?" he growled under his breath. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing on it except the video.

Frustration burned through him. Besides the actual video evidence, there was no information on the phone itself. He turned to Roman. "Listen, it's very important that you─" He froze, heart pounding in his chest.

Roman leaned against the wall, rifle held in the crook of his arm. "I've tried… so hard," he tensed his face, "to have him go around the lines. But he always goes through them. They all go through them." He swallowed heavily, sweat pouring down his face.

Norman slowly reached for his sidearm, bottling his panic. "Mr. Roman, put down your rifle."

Roman pressed a finger against his temple. "That's why you're not going to find him. The Origami Killer." He gazed at Norman. "When your life is spent trying to tell the difference between what's real and what's not. Who's the killer and who's innocent. You never stop to ask yourself where the hell you fit in all this."

Norman wrapped his hand around the grip of his pistol. "Just drop the gun." He struggled to keep his hands from shaking. "It's alright. Everything's going to be fine."

Roman smiled as he shook his head. "It's not fine. I can't tell anymore." He shifted against the wall, raising the barrel of the rifle. A jolt of terror shot through Norman's body, and he froze. "I can tell if someone is real or not if I point a gun at them," said Roman. "And when I shoot, the bullet just passes right through them. You can't kill them. Because they don't exist. They're already dead."

Roman's face softened, and he gazed at Norman with glazed eyes. "No more strings." He swung the barrel of the gun underneath his chin.

" _No!"_ There was an earsplitting pop as Norman swung his pistol forward. Roman collapsed against the wall, a slow trickle of blood winding down from the top of his head to his jaw.

For a moment, time seemed to have stopped. Tremors ran through Norman's body as he stared at Roman's slumped form. This couldn't be real. The man had been completely sensible only minutes before. Norman's breath shook, and his chest heaved. The last remaining father was dead.

Norman stepped forward, pushing the strings out of his way. He kneeled in front of the man, struggling to comprehend the situation. The cell phone was a dead end. Roman hadn't told him who had given him the phone or the box. And it seemed that secret was going to be lost with him.

A dark shape darted to his right, and Norman spun wildly raising his pistol in his gloved hand. His pistol shook as he scanned the room. Then with a slight wave of relief, he realized he was still wearing the ARI. He rested the gun against his knee and dropped his shoulders. Now _he_ was starting to doubt the difference between reality and imagination.

Norman pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the station. The operator answered.

"This is Agent Norman Jayden," said Norman. "I'm gonna need a coroner and a team of officers at 422 Pepper Brook Lane. A witness just shot himself." He hung up the phone, and breathed deeply as his nerves began to calm.

There wasn't much hope, but Norman held his hand over the man's body and released a pulse of light. It faded against the floor, and a minor list scrolled to the left of his vision. The expected items appeared. Skull fracture, Razadyne, vicodin, cotton string, folded paper, three pennies, two nickels…

Norman pressed a finger against the list, highlighting the folded paper. Apprehension tugged at his chest. He sent out another sphere of light, and a line indicated that the paper was in Roman's shirt pocket.

As much as it unnerved him, Norman reached forward, fumbling in the man's pocket. He drew back, a small folded paper pinched between his fingers. The edges were soft and the paper had faded. It was clearly old. Carefully, he unfolded it, spreading it so it lay flat. A single word was typed into it.

 _Coward._

Norman looked up at Roman, a dull ache in his throat. He wasn't positive, but the geometric folds were telltale signs that the paper was once an origami figure. The killer had contacted Roman after his son was killed. After Roman failed what Norman was sure was a trial. And here was another origami figure, taunting the man after he'd suffered and failed to save his son.

No wonder the man had gone insane. And as Norman rested his hands on his knees, a sad understanding filled him. It explained why two of the other fathers had also been found dead after their sons were killed. He guessed the missing fathers had met a similar fate.

A sudden, miserable realization hit him, and he slowly pulled his glasses from his face.

This was no longer a fight to save Shaun Mars. This was a fight to save the boy's father as well.


	8. Chapter 8: Karma

Norman's chest ached as he struggled to hold his breath, fighting against the endless weight of the water. His jacket floated, preventing him from swimming efficiently, and he seemed to barely move an inch despite his frantic kicking. There was no sign of light or waves above him, and as his hands swept through the water, he scattered the bioluminescent dots.

Panic racked his body. He wasn't going to make it. Despite the unending blackness around him, he felt as though he were trapped in a tiny box. He had to try. Even if it was hopeless, he had to fight. Bubbles obscured his vision, and his own groans of effort were muffled against the water. He was losing air fast, and his chest felt as though it would burst.

Suddenly, a deep moan echoed through the water. Terror shook his body, and he looked around through the inky blackness. There was something in the water with him. Something big.

A churning of water behind him got his attention. He twisted, and couldn't stop his bubbled scream as a pair of enormous white jaws with jagged teeth opened wide, encompassing his body.

Sound was suddenly amplified as Norman's scream echoed through the hotel room. He swung his hands wildly about him, his heart hammering in his chest. It took him a moment to realize where he was.

A combination of relief and residual panic filled him. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his forehead. What a way to start the day. He was already having trouble sleeping without the help of nightmares.

Bit by bit the events of yesterday pieced themselves back together in his mind. Part of him wanted to fall back into the sheets and sleep for another twenty hours, but the urgency of the investigation forced him out of bed. He ran a hand over his face as he headed to the door, and peeked out carefully. His suit was clean and dried though still torn, hanging by a hook outside his door. He reached around and unhooked it, keeping his bare upper body inside the room.

He was out the door before he knew it, tightening his tie around his neck and slipping his glasses into his interior coat pocket. One day was down, and there were only two more to go. It seemed the only thing he'd accomplished yesterday was adding more things to investigate to his list. The Origami killings were far more extensive than he realized. He was going to have to add to the killer's profile when he got to the office.

It was a different atmosphere at the station than the day before. Officers criss-crossed between the cubicles and spoke in rushed voices. About ten phones were ringing at once, and the officers at the desks were bent in intense focus. As Norman passed the cubicles, he saw Blake at the far end of the lobby in his usual trenchcoat. A group of officers surrounded him, and he seemed to be engaged in fierce instruction.

The frantic bustle faded as Norman entered his office, shutting the door behind him. He clasped a frustrated hand over his mouth, running it down his jaw. There wasn't much hope of finding anything new. But at least he had more to analyze.

Norman sat at his desk, and pulled his glasses from his pocket. As he raised them to his face, a nervous pang hit him. He stared at the black lenses for a moment, then gave his head a shake, slipping them over his eyes. It was just a dream. He didn't have time to worry about things that didn't exist.

The black ocean spread around him as he flexed his hand into the glove. "I hope you're happy, Nessie. You gave me a heart attack last night." He flicked his hand, drawing up the scroll which flattened in front of him. With a swing of his hand, he added the list of clues he'd discovered the day before, including motive, the phone, and Ethan Mars' activities. The scroll glowed, and a few details changed. He was now also looking for a man with a troubled childhood, possibly someone whose father had died or vanished when he was very young. Also, the killer had a sizeable income, or a safety fund which he must have been using to coordinate the trials. The well that was used to contain the victims was located somewhere other than the killer's house, which meant he either owned or borrowed an industrial building.

Norman felt his hopes fall. He didn't know why he expected the profile to give him a name or address, but with everything he'd learned yesterday, he silently wished it would lead him substantially closer. He leaned back in his chair, flicking his hand to the side and creating a small glowing ball attached to his middle finger by an ethereal thread. As he swung the yoyo, he considered the evidence he'd discovered at Roman's house. The cell phone and the folded paper… given to Roman by the killer. Obviously not directly, since it was likely Roman wouldn't have a reason to hide the killer's appearance or behavior. The man was obsessed with finding his son, even a year after his son was killed.

The yoyo rolled across the floor, flying back up into Norman's hand. Clearly Roman was a man who loved his son. And Ethan Mars was also willing to sacrifice himself to save his own kidnapped son. How then would these fathers who loved their sons lose them in broad daylight in a crowd full of people? It was obviously not by force. A car show was bound to have decent security and about a thousand people all struggling to keep track of eachother. Not to mention cameras all over the place─

Norman bolted forward in his chair. Cameras. _Of course_. Roman said his son was looking at a green Camaro. That meant other people must have been looking at it too. And he would bet that one of those people must have gotten a picture of the boy… and possibly the killer.

He flicked his wrist, sending the yoyo into the darkness as he drew a square in front of him. "Brandon Roman. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania," he said, and drew his fingers apart. A list scrolled downward, slowing as it reached the bottom, and Brandon Roman highlighted inside a bright rectangle. The rectangle expanded, revealing the photo of a young boy whose eyes resembled Thomas Roman's. As the summary trickled beneath the photo, Norman tapped his gloved finger against the photo, spurring a series of swirling images that wound like a juke box.

"Filter," said Norman, and the ring of photos squeezed together into a tighter circle. "Green Camaro." Several of the photos snapped back out again, creating a double layered ring. Norman's heart pounded in excitement as he flicked through the outer images. It would be too good to be true if the killer was actually in one of these photos.

Each image showed close-ups of a bright green Camaro, most of them too close to see any of the nearby crowd clearly. He spotted the top of a boy's head in one, and the sideways profile in another. He flicked through the photos, and paused on one. Over the hood, a blurry image of a small boy was just visible in between a group of adults. Norman flicked to the next image, and the young boy was even clearer. Norman strained to see the other adults, but the camera was too low. He flicked his hand to the right, and felt his heart stop. The next image was angled slightly to the side, but the boy was gone.

Norman sped through the other photos which had already made a complete circle. He darted back to the photo, and pressed his gloved hand against it. A list of details appeared in front of it. September 7, 2010, 1:27 P.M. Brandon Roman was kidnapped at exactly 1:27 P.M.

That meant there had to be a trail. Norman flicked through the other photos but the adults were too obscured to see properly. He wouldn't be able to find the killer this way. Fierce determination flowed through him. He wasn't giving up yet.

He swept the photo reel to the side, and formed another square with his hands. "Full Throttle Auto Expo. September 7, 2010. 1:27 P.M." He pulled his hands apart, and a grid of television screens appeared. He leaned forward, and a large red text appeared in front of him. _Authorization required._

For a moment, he simply stared. He put a hand to the text. "Authorization four seven zero two three Norman Jayden." Text scrolled underneath. _Property of Philadelphia Traffic Law Enforcement._ Norman put his forehead in his hand and let out a frustrated laugh.

"Come on, you're doing this to me now?" He sighed and swept the grid away. It seemed he was at the mercy of the PPA even in the ARI. Norman removed his glasses, plunging back into the drab office environment.

He waited for a moment, gripping the arms of the chair. A slight tremble started in his hands, but as the seconds wore on, he seemed to keep stable. Reassured, Norman stood up from his desk and left his office.

The lobby was still in an uproar as he made his way to Captain Perry's office. This time, he knocked and waited for Perry's voice from inside. Perry was at his usual place behind his desk as Norman stepped into the wide office. He felt a dash of humility as he remembered his outburst from yesterday, and made an effort to appear more calm.

"Sorry to disturb you," said Norman. "I may have a lead on the killer's car, but I need authorization to view the traffic surveillance footage at the time of one of the kidnappings."

Perry swivelled slightly in his chair as he looked at Norman. "Have you brought this up with Lieutenant Blake?"

Norman fought to hide his frustration. "Lieutenant Blake and I are… on separate agendas."

Perry typed something into his computer. "I suggest you work with Lieutenant Blake on this, Jayden. I hear he's rounding up a team of officers to look for Ethan Mars' car. Perhaps you should join him?"

"I think it'd be better if I stayed here at the office," said Norman. He felt his anxiety begin to boil. "I just need the authorization to identify the killer's car."

Perry continued to type. "Well if I heard the lieutenant correctly, the killer's car is a Crown Victoria. So there's no need to view the surveillance footage if it's already been identified."

Norman balled his fists. His face grew hot, and he ran a hand through his hair. "No," he said. "No, I guess not." Without another word, Norman turned and left through the door.

He should have known Perry wasn't going to help him. Not if it wasn't Blake's idea first. Norman glared at Blake who was still standing across the lobby, speaking between each of the officers. There was no way in hell Blake would lift a finger to point Norman to the nearest water fountain. If Norman was going to find a way around this, he was going to need someone on his side.

He scanned the lobby, and caught sight of the familiar brunette pony tail among the crowd of officers. A swell of relief flowed through him, and he moved quickly through the cubicles. Ashley might not be able to tell an apple from a rock, but she would at least have the authorization he needed to view the surveillance footage.

Norman darted in between the officers, and closed his hand around Ashley's bare arm. She spun quickly, her eyes wide in surprise, but her eyebrows narrowed as she looked at him. He felt a pang of shame, and let go of her arm quickly.

"Hey," he said, and he stepped closer to her. "Listen, what I said yesterday…" He struggled to find the right words to say. He wished she would look away, or at least give him her usual wide-eyed stare instead of the tense glare she threw at him now. "I was frustrated and angry. I didn't mean to lay all that on you at once. It was wrong and… and I'm sorry."

She blinked slowly, and lowered her head. "Oh."

"I just… I need your help." Frantic energy flowed through him as Blake moved out of the corner of his eye. "I think I can identify the killer's car through the traffic surveillance footage. But I need authorization to─"

"You know, Norman…" Ashley held her hand out and closed her eyes. Norman froze, dread filling him. She opened her eyes again, and gave him a scrutinizing look. "I have to go on patrol right now."

For a moment, they were both silent. Norman's face grew cold as he felt the blood drain from it. He stared at her in disbelief, but the solid look she gave him told him she was serious. She was angry at him, that much he knew. But was she really going to abandon him like this?

He struggled to speak. "Ashley…"

"And." She tilted her head sideways, giving him a small but empty smile. "By that I mean I don't have time to talk."

A heavy cloud seemed to settle over them. Norman felt his shoulders grow heavy as he resigned to the truth. His antisocial skills had definitely done their magic this time. But even the idea of being completely on his own seemed to be a small hardship compared to the expression on her face. And he found himself wanting more than anything for her to go back to being the perplexed, sympathetic woman he'd come to know.

He closed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. "Okay."

"Okay," said Ashley. They both stood still for a moment in painful silence, then Norman felt Ashley move away from him. He put his forehead in his hand and rubbed his bruised eye. He couldn't view the surveillance footage, Blake was hunting an innocent man, and Norman was down a friend. Somehow his despair yesterday morning was nothing compared to this.

There wasn't much else for him to do. Norman turned and moved through the cubicles, passing the group of officers that headed for the door. They had a name, a face, and a car, and with that many police on patrol, they were bound to find the man they were looking for. Maybe Norman would get his answers when they dragged Ethan Mars into the interrogation room.

He moved into his office, heading automatically for his desk. He stopped at the last minute, pressing his palms to his forehead and staring up at the ceiling. What was he going to do for the next few hours while Shaun Mars was slowly drowning in a well and the boy's father was most likely beaten and locked away in a cell? He couldn't just sit and roll a yoyo across the floor all day. There had to be something left for him to investigate.

Norman pulled Roman's cell phone from his pocket, pressing the power button. The image of the well appeared, and the tiny boy's hands rose between the grate. The same grate that Shaun Mars was now trapped under. The same grate that eight other boys had died alone in the cold unable to reach air a mere inches away. He could only imagine the determination Ethan Mars felt, seeing the pale shadow of his son trapped in a well at the mercy of a deranged serial killer.

The message appeared, and then the lines with scattered numbers and letters. Judging by the placement of the numbers, Norman guessed it was probably an address. No doubt the address where Roman's son was trapped. He didn't have to use the ARI to know that there wasn't enough information to determine the correct address. Still, it was better to try than to do nothing at all.

He pulled the glasses from his pocket and slid them over his nose. Without bothering to put on his glove, he held the phone with its scattered address in front of him. "Geoanalysis. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." A red square formed around the numbers and letters, and Norman was suddenly standing miles above the earth above the blue haze of the atmosphere. As he peered down, the earth rose up under his feet, zooming in on a section of the North American continent. He stepped idly in a circle as the map focused on a haphazardly formed square, titled Philadelphia. Blue lines of roads spread from the center and the names of locations formed. Then the information he was looking for. A series of red markers. Lots of them. Too many, spread throughout the city.

He sighed as he knelt down, studying the different addresses. There had to be at least fifty, with a good majority being in the industrial section of the city. Even if he had a team of officers and all the time in the world, it would take him at least a week to scout every one.

Well, he was a team of one. And standing around complaining about how much work it was wouldn't help him find Shaun Mars any sooner. Norman took off his glasses and the map vanished beneath him. It was going to be a long day of driving, so he might as well start now.

He put the ARI in his coat, and shoved the cell phone in his pocket as he left the office. Most of the police had gone from the lobby and it was back to the quiet office bustle. Norman pulled his keys out of his pocket as he headed to the entrance, and stepped out into the cold rain.

He gazed up, letting the raindrops fall on his face. If he ever got out of this city, he was going someplace where it never rained again.

A sad humor rose in him. He was willing to bet Shaun and Ethan Mars felt the same way.


	9. Chapter 9: Fugitive

The spinning red and blue lights were the first to capture his attention through the haze of rain. Then it was the sheer number of police vehicles lined along the streets. Norman fought to suppress his laugh. It couldn't be.

An officer stepped to his car as he braked and rolled down the window. "I'm sorry, sir, this is a police zone," said the officer. Norman held out his badge automatically.

"Have they arrested Ethan Mars?" said Norman, ignoring the officer's scowl. The officer shook his head.

"We're staking the place out. Patrol found a Crown Victoria matching the suspect's vehicle."

Norman pulled the car forward, heart pounding. He didn't know what was better luck─ that he'd stumbled on the stakeout in the process of an impossible search for the well, or that he'd gotten there before the police had time to arrest Mars. He scanned between the police cars, and spotted Blake's form next to an old sedan parked near a burned apartment building. Without bothering to pull over, Norman stopped his car in the middle of the road and stepped out into the rain.

The roar of the rain was almost deafening. He was standing next to Blake before he could hear the conversation.

"...front and back. Remember we want a fight, not a fugitive."

"Come on, have a little faith. They're not going anywhere."

"What's going on?" said Norman.

Blake turned to him, his back against the side of the car. Blake's head dropped and Norman could hear his groan over the tapping of rain.

"What does it look like, idiot?" said Blake, motioning to the apartment building. "We've got the killer surrounded. Looks like the Origami Killer is finally gonna be brought to justice."

Norman looked up at the building. This definitely wasn't the place he'd expect to find the Origami Killer holed up. But definitely the sort of place to hide something a killer didn't want to have discovered.

He pressed his hand to the back of his neck to stop the flow of water from dampening his suit. "You haven't gone inside yet?"

"Of course not," said Blake. "Then we'd have to arrest him. Nah, this Origami Killer is going down the police justice way. Just the thing he deserves."

A blaze of fury shot through Norman's body. Blake was taking his arrogance to a whole new level. But Norman could tell despite Blake's fantasies of being a hero cop, he hadn't counted on Norman showing up at the scene.

Norman moved past the sedan, stepping up onto the curb. There was a bustle of movement behind him.

"Jayden, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm apprehending the suspect," said Norman over his shoulder. Two policemen moved in on either side of him as he walked to the entrance of the building.

"Are you a fucking imbecile? I just said we're waiting!"

"I'm tired of waiting." Norman placed his hand on the doorknob. Quick splashes moved behind him, and he stumbled sideways as Blake shoved him out of the way.

"What do you think you are, some sort of god damn hero?" Blake stepped up to him, and Norman forced himself to look him in the eye. "Gonna take all the credit for finding the Origami Killer? You've been here one day. I've been doing this for three years. So you can just fuck off, _Nor_ man."

Norman felt wicked energy flow through him. He gazed up at Blake and felt a sly smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Having your team shoot the Origami Killer on the spot isn't going to get you a Medal of Honor either, Blake. The only thing that's going to get you spotlight is a confession, and Ethan Mars can't exactly do that if he's dead, can he?"

Blake was silent for a moment, but Norman could see the gears turning in his head. Despite his confidence, Norman felt a river of terror. He didn't know where this plan of his was taking him, but all he knew was the Ethan had to stay alive no matter what.

A fierce smile spread across Blake's face. "So this is the kinda war you want, Norman? Okay. Two can play this game." Blake turned and motioned to the police behind him. A group of officers moved forward, and Blake set his hand on the doorknob. Then with a quick nod to the other officers, he threw the door open and stepped out of the way.

The officers rushed inside one by one. They shouted to one another as they disappeared into the building. Norman drew his pistol from his jacket and darted through the doorway after them.

The first room was empty. As he moved to the stairway, there was a frantic shout above him.

"There! She's climbing out one of the windows!"

Norman bolted outside again, stepping sideways as he gazed up at the windows of the apartment. There was no sign of Ethan Mars, or anyone for that matter. Frantic apprehension gripped him, and he sprinted around the side of the building, vaulting over a low wooden fence. Splashes around him told him police were following, and he slid in the mud as he reached the back of the building.

The area was clear. Tall buildings enclosed the back of the apartment, creating a network of alleyways flooded with water. Norman moved down the alleyway to his right, holding his gun steady. It sounded as if Ethan wasn't alone, and Norman couldn't take the chance that whoever was helping him wouldn't simply fire at police on sight.

He turned a corner and saw the pantleg and shoe of someone quickly moving out of sight. Voices shouted around him, and he quickly ran down the alley, sending up explosions of water as his feet hit the ground. The police were moving quickly, but Norman had to be quicker. This was his only chance to keep Ethan Mars alive, and he'd be damned if he was going to let Blake wallow in self-infatuation.

Norman pushed off the wall as he turned, jumping over fallen trashcans as he sprinted down the alley. The sounds of the police were getting further away, and his anxiety grew as he realized he was alone. He reached another crossroads between the buildings and paused a moment, looking in all directions. The trail was fading quickly. Ethan had vanished.

Making a quick decision, Norman turned and moved quickly to the left. It would be just his luck if Ethan Mars got away entirely. It wouldn't be the first time Norman had lost all hope of getting answers.

He paused at another crossroads, stopping to catch his breath. He had no idea where he was, and he ran a frustrated hand across his wet face. It'd be a miracle if he was even able to find his way back to the apartment again.

There was a sudden splash to his right, and Norman turned, breath caught in his throat. He raised his gun. "Stop! Police!"

Two figures stood several meters away behind a tall chainlink fence. They clenched eachother side by side, and as they turned, Norman was able to distinguish the frame of a small woman supporting a slumped man around the waist. Norman's hands shook as he moved slowly forward. It was Ethan Mars. Ragged, bloodied, and barely alive.

For a frantic moment, Norman struggled to decide what to do. He had them pinned, but the chainlink fence was too high for him to climb easily, and the woman would no doubt be able to drag Ethan to safety in the time it took Norman to climb over it. He stared at the figures, gazing at the woman's face. Her short hair was plastered to her skin from the wet rain, and her eyes were weary in defeat. She held Ethan's arm over her shoulder and slouched, panting heavily from the effort of holding him up. As he watched them, a calm resolution spread through his body. These people had been through one hell of a fight. He thought he knew what despair and hardship was. The slumped and moaning man in front of him was the embodiment of it.

Norman made a quick decision before he could talk himself out of it. He tilted his gun sideways, and dropped his arms slowly. Then he took a deep breath. "Help him find his son," he called over the rain.

The woman gazed at him, her expression barely changing. Agonizing apprehension tugged at his nerves, and the woman turned away, helping Ethan to limp down the alley. Norman could hardly believe what he'd done. He'd just let Ethan Mars go. And the only hope of discovering the location of the well.

Norman turned slowly back the way he'd come, pressing his hands to the side of his head, barrel of the pistol pointed upwards. Then his heart stopped in his chest. A figure was standing in front of him, firearm raised.

Ashley's hands shook as she pointed her gun at him, fierce bewilderment alight in her eyes. Norman lowered his hands, feeling his body go numb. Panic racked his brain as he fought to say something. Anything. She had to understand. It wasn't what it seemed.

Her eyes flicked past him at the stumbling figures on the other side of the alley, then locked on him again, fiery accusation lined in her face. Norman moved toward her slowly, holding out a hand in protest. He had to stay in the way. At least prevent her from being able to fire on them until they turned the corner. Yet at the same time, he felt as if he was tearing open an already bleeding wound. If she didn't hate him before, she would certainly hate him now.

As much as it made the shame burn in his chest, he continued to gaze into Ashley's eyes. They narrowed at him, her innocent face betraying a combination of frustration and confusion. Then her hand moved to her belt, bringing a walkie-talkie to her mouth.

"Blake─" Her head tilted sideways into the walkie-talkie as she continued to look at Norman. All his hope dashed away. He'd really made a mess of things this time. Ethan Mars was half dead and lost in the crowd of the city. The chances of him finding his son were slim at best. Norman might as well have condemned both of them to death.

"What is it? Did you find Ethan Mars?" Blake's voice rang through the comm.

Norman lowered his eyes to the ground, unable to take the guilt anymore. He couldn't explain why he'd made the decision so quickly. There were so many other things he could have done. For the first time in his career, he made a choice that felt right, not what was logical. He was going to have a hard time explaining that to the judge. Especially after the ninth body was found.

Ashley breathed in deeply next to him, and Norman felt his body freeze. "We lost them."

For a moment, time seemed to stop. He looked up at her, and the expression on her face had changed. Her eyes were softer. More understanding, yet still untrusting. She lowered the walkie-talkie and her gun, standing in the rain as if defeated.

"What the hell do you mean 'we lost them?'" Blake's frustrated voice was garbled. "God damn mother fucking fucker…"

The sound of the rain overtook the silence. Norman gazed at Ashley, not knowing what to say. She had no reason to help him. Not after the way he treated her. And yet here she was, helping an FBI agent that her whole department hated. He felt an overwhelming gratitude, but a cloud of shame still hung over him. He moved closer, reaching his hand to her shoulder.

"Ashley…" He stopped as she took a step backward, moving her arm out of the way. The frustration returned to her eyes, and she put her gun back into her holster. Before Norman could say another word, splashes echoed down the alleyway. A group of police entered the crossroads, looking left and right with their guns in all directions.

"Did you see where they went?" asked one of the officers. "They couldn't have gone far."

Ashley threw Norman an anxious glance. "They didn't come down this way. We searched."

"God damn it." One of the officers pulled at the chainlink fence. "We had them fucking surrounded. How the hell did they get away?" They moved around, dropping their hands as they filed back down the alley.

Norman turned to Ashley, his throat sore. He waited until the police were further away. "Thank you," he said.

Ashley shrugged her shoulders and pursed her lips. "Pretty sure I'm gonna regret it later. This could cost me my badge." She looked at him and opened her mouth as if to continue, then she sighed, turning away.

"You saved two lives just now, Ashley," said Norman. "That's not something to regret."

"No one can be sure of that," she said. Then she stopped suddenly, and tilting her head. "And Norman…"

He took a step toward her. "Yeah?"

She twisted to look back at him, her eyebrows narrowed. "Fuck you." She strapped the walkie-talkie to her belt and continued down the alley, leaving Norman alone in the rain.


	10. Chapter 10: Triptocaine

Gray light filtered through the blocked windows of the burned apartment, creating shadows in the empty space. The tablet glowed as Norman held his hand over it, scanning it deeply. He sighed. "ARI comment. Circuits are fried. Hard drive is out. Looks like it was remotely detonated."

There was only one table in the room, and it was covered in fresh blood. Norman had already identified it as Ethan's which explained why the man needed help escaping. A small bloodied stump of a finger lay on the table next to a rusty butcher knife. Had Norman not visited Roman the day before, he would be absolutely confused by the scene in front of him. As it was now, it all made perfect sense. This was a trial.

The killer had been meticulous about the trials as well. There were no fingerprints except those of Ethan Mars, and no clues to suggest anyone else had been in the apartment. Norman leaned over the table, resting both hands on the surface. He was getting good at finding dead ends.

There was a low creak behind him, and part of the sun was blocked from the doorway. Norman felt his heart sink. He ran a hand over his face, smudging the lenses of his glasses.

"The place is clean," he said. "You're not going to disturb any evidence." He leaned off the table and turned to face her as Ashley rested her shoulder against the wall, avoiding his gaze. Most of the other officers had left, and Norman had to sneak his way into the building to avoid Blake's wrath. Finally being alone was the most relief he'd felt all day long, but he could tell that was about to abruptly end.

Ashley looked at him, and Norman's heart quickened as he spotted a hint of her usual wide-eyed expression. "I should have turned you in." She ran a thumb slowly across her bottom lip, analyzing him.

Norman rested his knuckles against the wood of the table. "Why didn't you?" For a while there was only the pitter patter sound of rain against the windows. Ashley tilted her head, staring at the floor.

"I guess I'm hoping you'll suffer something worse. When this is all over." She put her forehead in her hand, and Norman heard her sniff. Then she looked up at him, her eyes tense. "I know you think I'm stupid, useless, I slow the process down," she spoke quickly as if she'd rehearsed it. "I can't find a clue if it were to drop right in front of me with a neon sign. But at least I do what I know is right, and I do it with a clear conscience. I'm not doing this because I want a promotion or a shiny medal, or to get back home to a fancy desk in Washington." She tensed her shoulders as she glared at him. "Just because you're FBI doesn't make you any better of a cop than me. It just gives you a higher paycheck."

She breathed heavily as if she'd been running. Norman was silent as he looked at her, the edges of her figure highlighted in the ARI. The anger in her eyes was broken by the nervous glint, giving her the energy of a child standing up to an adult. Somehow he guessed she'd had this argument before with someone else. He sighed and scratched a nail into the wood.

"It takes more to be a good cop than to have good morals," said Norman. Ashley's eyes narrowed at him. He stepped forward, resting his hand at his side. "It takes courage. Knowing when to break and follow the rules. And putting yourself in danger to save someone else." He leaned so that he was eye to eye with her. "I didn't get this job because of my fancy Ph.D. I got it because I earned it."

She shook her head, folding her arms over her chest. "How the hell," she said quietly, "do you get up in the morning, put on your expensive suit, and not completely fuck up every relationship you have with people?"

Norman felt a pang of anger. He moved away, running his hand along the table. "And what makes you think I don't?" He waved his hand at her. "Look, I don't know how else to say I'm sorry, Ashley. I was a complete dick to you. I threw my opinion in your face and didn't care how it made you feel. I─ I push people away, I isolate myself, and I hate it." He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. "I can't connect with people. You're the first person I've met in years who's been nothing but helpful and… and caring, and I managed to make you my enemy. I can't explain it." He paused at the end of the table. "I don't know why. I just can't explain it."

They were both quiet for a moment. Norman hadn't expected at any point in this investigation to be spilling his personal concerns to anyone, least of all someone he'd only known for a day. Somehow it felt refreshing to expose the side of him that he normally kept hidden. Whether she hated him or not, at least someone knew. He was only going to be in Philadelphia for a few days after all.

Ashley nodded, plunging her hands into her jean pockets. "You can't explain it…" She moved forward, slamming something small on the table. "Maybe this can explain it."

Norman's face went numb at the sight of the blue vial. He raised the ARI sunglasses onto his forehead as Ashley moved against the wall, resting her back and folding her arms. His mind raced as he struggled to comprehend the situation. How did she find one of the vials? He'd been so careful, keeping them hidden in his coat pocket. Then a realization hit him. The vial he'd lost in his office… she must have found it before waking him up. Which meant she'd known about his addiction the whole time.

A wave of shame fell over him. He ran a hand over his face, feeling his chest begin to ache. "It's not what you think."

Ashley breathed a frustrated laugh, shifting against the wall. "Oh, it's not? Well, that's great. You only snort a little to take the edge off or is the FBI into hiring fucking _junkies?_ " She trembled slightly as she glared at him. "You call my department fucked up… I can't put one foot in front of the other without tripping... how could you even look me in the eye and say that with a tube of triptocaine under your desk?"

As much as it angered him, Norman immediately felt his anger give way to guilt. He could argue back. Say it was none of her business. But after what he'd said to her, he felt in a way he deserved this. At the moment, he simply wanted to find closure, even if it meant she'd never speak to him again.

Ashley sighed as she shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Norman…" She leaned off the wall and moved to the door, stopping just under the doorframe and leaning against it with her back to him.

Norman scooped the vial in his gloved hand, pinching his bruised eye gently between his thumb and index finger. "It's to offset the symptoms of ARI withdrawal," he said.

For a moment, Ashley was silent. Then she turned, an unbelieving smirk on her face. "ARI withdrawal?" she repeated.

Norman removed the sunglasses from his forehead, holding it out for her to see. "Added Reality Interface. It's experimental. Only a fifty-member program." Ashley took the glasses from him, staring at the glowing ARI letters on the side. "Experimental meaning they don't know the long term effects of overusage," Norman continued. He held his gloved hand forward, and Ashley gazed at it. She ran a finger over the glowing receptors.

"So they give you illegal drugs to treat the symptoms of an experimental mind-fryer?" said Ashley. She handed the glasses back to him.

"No." Norman stared down at the glasses as he turned them over in his hand. "That I learned from an outside source. It's not entirely prescription, but it does help." He looked up at her, and raised his eyebrow slightly. "You saw the effects of me not taking it when you found me unconscious on the floor."

Ashley gazed at him and rubbed her arm. "How can you be sure it's not withdrawal from the triptocaine, not the ARI?"

He breathed deeply, picking at one of the lights on the ARI. "I can't."

Ashley was quiet as he stared at the glasses. A weight seemed to be lifting off them. Norman couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but it felt better. Someone was finally in on his secrets. He didn't think it was possible to tell someone so much in such a short time, but his trip to Philadelphia had been anything but average. He felt the same, but also different. And that was encouraging.

Ashley sighed, and Norman looked up at her. "I _don't_ think you're a junkie, Norman," she said, her round eyes growing softer. He moved closer to her so that she had to look up at him. With any other person, he'd have felt uncomfortable.

"And I don't think you're a useless cop," he said. A similar sensation floated through him akin to the morning she'd spoken to him in the car. He took the time to observe the details of her face, her wide brown eyes, slightly slanted eyebrows, the sharp angles of her nose and jawline. She ran a thumb across her lip and turned away, face slightly red.

"I guess that means I owe you an apology," she said.

"You don't owe me anything," said Norman. "You already saved my career and Ethan Mars. And if we're lucky, we can still save Shaun."

Ashley smiled, and Norman felt his shame melt away at her wide-eyed expression. "You mean this thing doesn't have built-in luck?" she said, nodding to the ARI in his hands. He spun it casually between his fingers.

"It's got a lot of things," he said. "Unfortunately, luck isn't one of them."

Ashley breathed out heavily, and Norman could sense the force in her seriousness. She looked to the side. "Well… does it have a set of wheels?" She jabbed her thumb towards the window. "They sort of stole my ride."

Norman couldn't stop his smile. He pulled off the ARI glove and stuffed it into his coat pocket. Somehow it felt like things were locking into place. As if this was the way it should be. Shaun Mars was still in a watery hole, Ethan was most likely bleeding to death, and Blake was preparing for a month of gloating. But at least one thing was finally going right.

"Come on," he said, moving down the hallway. "I'll give you a ride to the station."

They were both silent as they left the building and stepped into the rain. A few police officers still wandered the building, rounding up the police tape and speaking with onlookers. Ashley tilted her head back in the rain as Norman unlocked his car, and they ducked into the cab.

She laughed lightly next to him as Norman fastened his seatbelt. "I can't believe you did that to Blake," she said, shaking her head. "You'd better hope you don't run into him again or he might just try to shoot you and say you're the Origami Killer."

Norman drummed his hands on the steering wheel. "I don't know. I kind of miss doing the investigation with him."

"Well." Ashley turned slightly towards him, a look of mocking contempt on her face. "Need me to pick up the slack on the police brutality and narcissism, _Nor_ man?"

He laughed, taking his time to start the car and shift the gear. For once in this investigation, he wanted this moment to last as long as possible. "I'd love to see you try."


	11. Chapter 11: Clue

The station was starting to feel like home, especially because it was nearly empty of officers. Norman stepped through the sliding glass doors, pausing to pull the soaked leather jacket from his shoulders. A spray of water hit him, and he turned, raising a hand to his face as Ashley shook the water from her hair. She sighed heavily and looked sideways at him, her hair plastered to her face.

"I'm really starting to hate being wet," she said.

"Well, at least you get to stay inside," said Norman. He shook his leather jacket so that the floor was now a water puddle.

"Wait, you're leaving?" said Ashley, wringing the water from her ponytail.

"I've got about fifty buildings to scout," said Norman. He felt a weight fall on his shoulders as he remembered how hopeless the task seemed. "One of them has to be where the killer is keeping Shaun Mars."

"You're going to check each location one by one?" Ashley stared sideways at him, hands on her hips. "What about the killer's car?"

It took Norman a moment to switch his mind back to the original plan. Identifying the killer's car. Would he even have time now? He looked at Ashley, apprehension in his chest. "The traffic surveillance…"

Ashley nodded. "Didn't you say you needed authorization to view it?" Before Norman could answer, she moved toward the nearest empty cubicle. He sighed as he moved after her. He'd never seen anyone so eager to do anything, even if it was solving a crime. The keys tapped loudly as Ashley worked, bent over the computer without sitting in the chair. Norman ran a hand over his face.

"Why do you want to help me, Ashley?" He felt a nervous jolt as she paused. She stood up quickly, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You're asking me this _now?_ " she said. Norman struggled to speak, frozen solid by the look on her face. Then she shrugged her shoulders and bent towards the computer again. "The way I see it, I have three choices. I can tackle this on my own which is a guaranteed failure. Or I can follow Blake and arrest some innocent man who will probably be beaten to death before he can even fake a confession. Or─" She tapped the keyboard and stood up, facing him. "─I can help the only person who's got the first actual lead in three years, even if he is an antisocial jerk." She nodded to the computer and the corner of her mouth rose. "Try it now."

The feeling came back to his limbs as Norman looked down at the computer. He leaned forward, and closed the tab with the mouse. "Not with this." He stood up straight, pulling the ARI from his pocket. He felt Ashley's eyes on him as he fitted the glove onto his hand. Throwing a glance to her, he moved towards his office and footsteps behind him told him she was following him.

He opened the door and stepped into the small space. Ashley closed the door as he sat at his desk.

"Do you… need me to stand somewhere specific?" said Ashley.

"Just stay close to my desk." Norman fitted the glasses over his eyes, and the environment turned dark as the endless black ocean surrounded him. "Wouldn't want Nessie to eat you."

" _What_ will eat me?" There was a scramble as he guessed Ashley was spinning around. He smiled guiltily.

"Nothing." He formed a square with his hands. "Full Throttle Auto Expo. September 7, 2010. 1:27 P.M." The ethereal television screens appeared as he moved his hands away, and this time a video appeared on each one from different angles. He tilted his head as he examined each one. There was a video of the entrance with different cars filing in and out, one of the street outside the expo with vehicles whizzing by, and several others at different angles around the car show. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together in front of his mouth.

"What do you see?" said Ashley. It was strange to hear her voice yet not be able to see her.

"Nothing yet." Norman watched the cars file out of the expo on the first screen. "At this point I'm looking for a man with a kid, or an old sedan." He pressed a hand to the screen, and it enlarged over the others. "The killer would have left almost immediately to avoid suspicion. And he would have come out at either of these locations." He moved the screen to the side, enlarging a second screen revealing another entrance to the expo.

"Have you─" Ashley fell silent. Norman adjusted the screens in front of him.

"Have I what?" he asked. Ashley made a noise and he felt the desk shift which he guessed she was leaning against.

"Have you ever considered becoming a mime." It was a statement, not a question. Norman turned his head in her direction. There was a slight smack. "I'm sorry, I'll just shut up."

He shook his head slowly. The videos in front of him were playing in ten minute loops. For the moment, all he noticed were high-dollar vehicles lining in and out of the car expo. This was actually very fortunate. An old sedan would stand out against the valuable cars. Norman just hoped the killer had taken one of these two entrances, and not a back entrance that the surveillance had missed.

"Do you eat?"

Norman looked sideways at the empty space next to him. "Do I eat?" he repeated.

"I just… I mean I never see you eat," said Ashley. "It might help. You know, with the um… withdrawal." They were silent for a moment. Norman felt a slight humor over his confusion. This seemed to be what they were best at. Awkward silences.

The desk moved again. "I'm just gonna go see what I can find." Her voice moved further away. "Don't… just don't pass out or anything." The door opened and closed.

Norman rested his head back in his hands as he stared at the cars. He was glad Ashley was speaking to him again, but that didn't make her any easier to understand. She could say some of the most powerful things, and two minutes later barely be able to talk at all. None of the other officers seemed to even acknowledge her existence, probably because they had all given up on her as Norman had the day before. He felt a deep regret burn in his throat. That might have been why she reacted the way she did toward his outburst. Just another cop unable to deal with her infectious, clueless personality.

He cupped his hands, creating an ethereal baseball. It rolled back and forth on the desk between his hands. So far, there was nothing but shiny, expensive cars in the cameras with the occasional family vehicle filing in between. The family cars looked well taken care of, not the overused sedan that he was looking for. He sighed as he rolled the ball from one hand to the other. It wasn't out of the question that the killer was driving a brand new car, and had only slacked off on the tires. Or perhaps he drove his car over rough terrain frequently, wearing the tires down. The more he doubted, the heavier his shoulders seemed to become. If he needed to, he'd analyze each and every vehicle and their tires until his nose bled.

He glanced up at the cars, trying to guess the brands of the vehicles. New cars these days looked nothing like their standard counterparts. The Ford Mustang looked exactly like a Chevrolet Camaro, except it had grill-like tail lights. Why would someone choose a Mustang over a Camaro then, if they were practically identical? A shiny Corvette drove by, rain spilling over the windshield. Now that's a car that was unique. Even Ashley would be able to identify that. Norman gave himself a mental pinch. She was right. He really was an antisocial jerk. The screen was empty for a moment, and Norman rolled the ball between his fingers. He wondered what she was bringing him anyway. He glanced up at the screen, and the ball rolled past his hand over the side of the desk, vanishing into the floor.

The left screen paused as he touched his gloved finger to it. He bolted forward in his chair, his heart pounding. This had to be it. The timing was right. The location was right. An old vehicle was frozen in the middle of the screen as it drove through the exit.

Norman pressed his left hand to the screen, drawing his gloved finger outwards. A text box appeared with a list of information. 1983 blue Chevrolet Malibu. Plate I.D BAK967. Registration inconclusive. Norman felt a rush of excitement as well as apprehension. The plates weren't registered. It was most likely a stolen vehicle. And a stolen old sedan was most definitely the killer's car.

He touched his gloved thumb and index finger to the paused video, drawing his fingers apart so the image zoomed close to the windshield. It was no use. The rain obscured the view inside the car. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. Stolen car, false plates, and no view of the driver. He waved his hand, throwing the screens into the darkness. It wasn't over yet.

He touched the details of the car. "Surveillance." He spread his hands apart, creating a network of new televisions. He gazed at them all. Each video was a rainy day. And each was conveniently obscured. Determination racked Norman's nerves. "Sort by date and time," he said. The videos reorganized themselves, and Norman pressed his left hand against the first one. "Geoanalysis," he said. The ocean vanished around him, and he was once again hovering in the blue stratosphere of the Earth. He stood up as the ground zoomed up beneath him, coming to a stop over the city of Philadelphia. A red marker pinpointed the location of the camera which captured the footage of the car. Norman kneeled, running his finger against it. The street was on the outskirts of the city, near an old scrapyard. He touched the location with his gloved fingers, and a text box rose in front of him. "Auto Salvage and Repair." Norman felt his mouth spread in an involuntary smile. This was it.

"Oh god… Norman!" Something bumped into him, and he felt pressure underneath his arm. Norman wrenched his glasses off his face and saw that Ashley was pulling him up by the arm.

"Ashley, I'm fine." He stood up, coming level with her wide-eyed face. "I figured it out."

She sighed and let go of his arm. "Christ, I thought you were passing out again." She ran a trembling thumb across her lip. "What did you figure out?"

"The killer's car," said Norman, removing his glove. "It's a 1983 Chevrolet Malibu. Stolen. And I know where to find out who bought the car." He stuffed the glove and the glasses into his pocket. "It's on the edge of town. I doubt they're going to be friendly, so let's… let's…"

The room spun slowly. Norman pressed a hand to his head, stepping backward to regain his balance. He pinched his eyes shut and opened them again. His limbs weren't tingling, but he still felt as though he were on a ship at sea.

He was pulled to the side as Ashley moved him towards the chair. Shakily, he sat down, resting his arms on the surface and leaning forward to press his forehead onto the desk. A terrifying thought dashed through his mind. He wasn't going to take the triptocaine. Not in front of her.

He felt Ashley grip his arm. "I'm right here," she said, and Norman found himself hanging on to her voice. "I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

Norman sat up, pressing his hands to his face. He pulled his hands away and gazed at them. There was no blood. Relief filled him as the room slowly began to mold itself into its proper dimensions. He looked at Ashley who was knelt next to him, her wide eyes practically burning through his.

"God, you're pale," she said. She pushed a styrofoam cup across the desk towards him. "Here, drink this. I figured it's the only thing you would have."

Norman picked up the cup which was pleasantly warm in his hands. As he brought it under his nose, the salty smell of the soup rose to meet him. He drank the savoury liquid and felt his core heat up slowly. It was a different warmth from the triptocaine, but somehow it gave him more satisfaction. He set the half empty cup on the table as he breathed deeply, letting the meager nourishment deliver energy to him. It took him a moment to realize Ashley was gazing at him as if wanting to ask a question. He looked at the cup, then handed it to her.

She took the cup from him and closed her eyes as she raised it to her mouth. The sound of her breath echoed in the styrofoam, and she leaned forward, setting the now empty cup onto the table.

Norman shook his head as he rested his elbows on the desk, rubbing his eyes. "This is going to kill us both."

"Yeah." Ashley sighed next to him. "They say even the styrofoam that it comes in will give you cancer."

He was still for a moment. It was hard to tell if she was being serious or not. He looked sideways at her as she spun the empty cup idly on the table. It was impossible to hold it in any longer. "Have you always been like this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Ashley stopped spinning the cup. Her eyes locked on his, lit in confusion. "In a sitting position?"

He caught his forehead in his hands. "Strange, I mean." A nervous tremor went through him, and he softened his voice. "You said it yourself. You're strange sometimes."

For a moment, Ashley simply gazed at him. He worried he might have opened the old wound between them, but then she turned her attention back to the cup.

"Well, ever since Cas─" Her eyes closed for a second, and she opened them slowly. "Since my partner died, I haven't been quite the same I guess." The cup slipped from her hand and rolled across the desk. "Not that I was Sherlock Holmes before, but since he's been gone, I feel like I just don't… have a hold on things." Pain seemed to shine in her eyes, and Norman recognized the expression he'd seen in the car with her. He stared at the surface of the desk.

"You really loved him, didn't you?" he said.

Ashley moved next to him. Her mouth opened as if to say something, then she bit her lip, gazing away from him. Norman twisted in his seat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he said quickly. He breathed an exasperated sigh. He really couldn't tell the difference between being open and being offensive. Most likely, he was both at the same time. Once again, he was calling her strange when he had no right to say anything at all.

Ashley shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. She looked up at him, her clueless expression shining behind her smile. "Need me to drive?"

It took a moment for Norman's nerves to settle. He fumbled with the ARI in his pocket. "You don't think I can drive? I feel fine." He stood up, waiting for the room to morph again, but the walls were rigid and he held his ground. An idea came to him, and he searched his pockets. "Plus, I want you to look at this." He handed her Roman's cell phone.

She stared at it for a moment. "Yep, it's a cell phone alright."

Norman sighed as he moved to the door, grabbing his dry leather coat from the wall. "It's not mine." He opened the door and she walked past him, turning the phone over in her hands. "I got it from a father of one of the victims. The killer gave it to him."

Ashley turned to him, a look of surprise in her eyes. "The killer? How do you know?"

Norman motioned to the phone as they headed towards the sliding glass doors. "Just turn it on." He began to work his arm into one of the jacket sleeves, then paused, watching Ashley as she stood by the doors with the phone held in front of her face. She rubbed her arm as she analyzed the phone, and tapped one foot on the ground. With a heavy sigh, Norman pulled his arm free of the jacket, then moved towards her, draping the jacket around her shoulders. She held it closed against her chest with one hand, throwing him a thankful glance.

They stepped out into the rain, and Norman's suit immediately became soaked and stuck to his skin. But for the first time since he arrived in Philadelphia, he didn't care.


	12. Chapter 12: Mad Jack

There was a sharp snap next to him as Norman pulled the car into the muddy lot. "Ouch, shit…" Ashley fumbled with her hair next to him, and Norman parked the car in front of a large steel hangar in the middle of a vehicle graveyard. Piles of broken cars created hills into the distance, and a heavy material handler sorted through the empty shells of the cars.

Norman looked sideways at Ashley, and felt a strange twinge in his chest. She was twisted sideways, tugging at the tangled band which had held her hair together in a ponytail. He gazed curiously at her hair which was shorter than he expected, then looked out the window quickly to avoid staring. She grunted again, and when he looked back, she was running her fingers through her hair, her back arched against this seat. This time, he didn't look away quick enough.

"What?" she asked, gazing sideways at him around her arms. He felt his face heat up, and picked nervously at the steering wheel.

"Nothing." It was useless to pretend, so he racked his mind for a better answer. "You just… um." He threw a sideways glance at her. "You look good with your hair down."

For the first time, Norman was at the end of the awkward silence. The rain tapped against the top of the car, filling the space with a low roar.

"Well, _you_ look good…" Ashley stammered a comeback. "... without a black eye and a nosebleed!" She pulled her hair back, fitting another band over her brown hair.

Norman shook with silent laughter. "Oh, good one. You got me there." He fitted his firearm under his jacket. "Come on, I think that's the owner."

"Wait a second." Ashley's voice was muffled a bit as Norman opened the car door. He looked at her as she pressed a thumb to her lip. "Maybe… maybe we shouldn't let them know we're the police," she said.

Norman was silent for a moment, then closed the car door. "Why not?"

"I just... I feel like it's a bad idea," she said, pulling Norman's leather coat over her shoulders. "If you sold a stolen car to the Origami Killer, would you talk to the cops?" She shifted against the seat. "Two people looking for a car to buy are a lot less intimidating than two cops looking for a stolen car."

Norman absorbed her words. "And if the killer works here and we happen to find him right now?"

Ashley ran a thumb across her lip. "Then… we'll just… fuck, I don't know." She rubbed her forehead. "I just have a bad feeling about this. It's not like Nathaniel."

"Well, Nathaniel wasn't exactly friendly either," said Norman. "Look, I'll do all the talking. You just keep one hand on your sidearm, okay?" Ashley nodded, doubt lined in her face. Cherishing the moments that he was dry, Norman opened the car door and stepped out into the mud.

He moved towards the steel hangar, glancing back to be sure Ashley was following him. The interior of the hangar came into view, revealing an empty space bordered by tables and heavy machinery. A small office took up the front corner of the hangar, and Norman stepped towards it cautiously. There was no one inside. He looked out at the materials handler. It appeared the driver was the only man on the property. Norman threw Ashley an optimistic glance and she returned it with a nervous one, tightening her hands on the coat.

Norman walked through the rain towards the heavy tractor. He approached it from the side, and spotted a muscular dark man in the driver's seat. The man didn't appear to have seen him, and Norman stood as close as he could to the giant tractor.

"Hey!" He held a hand over his forehead to block the rain as he looked upward. "Excuse me!" The man turned and looked at him, and Norman noticed the intricate tattoos lining the man's large arms. He felt a nervous tremor as the man turned off the tractor and stood up. This man was huge.

Norman stepped back as the man climbed down from the tractor and landed in the mud, standing to full height so that Norman looked up at him. The man threw his dark eyes to Ashley, then they fell back to Norman. "Whatta you want?" the man asked in more of a growl than a voice.

Norman racked up his courage. "I'm Agent Jayden, FBI, and this is Officer Gibbons. We're here to ask you a few questions about a car you acquired three years ago."

The man's expression didn't change. "Okay?"

Norman motioned to the hangar. "Can we get out of the rain?"

Without a word, the man stepped past him, heading for the hangar. Norman moved after him, and he felt Ashley bump his shoulder as she walked close to him. He didn't need to look at her to see the nervous expression on her face. They passed under the curtain of rain and entered the steel hangar which roared from the rainfall.

The man leaned his back against the outside wall of the office, watching Norman with a glare.

"Can I ask your name?" said Norman.

For a while, the man simply glared at him. "Jack."

"Okay, Jack." Norman folded his arms over his chest. "We're looking for a 1983 Chevrolet Malibu that passed through your yard about three years ago. I don't care if it was stolen, or the fact that fake plates were made for it. I just want to know who owns it."

The steel creaked as Jack moved off of it, standing inches away from Norman. Though the man was menacing, Norman still only felt a fraction of the discomfort he felt when standing against Blake.

"You think I remember every car that's passed through my lot in the past three years, legal or not?" said Jack. "I don't know about your damn car. Now get the hell outta here." Jack moved away towards the curtain of rain.

"That's too bad," said Norman. "Because if you sold the car to the Origami Killer, you've aided in six, seven," Norman ticked his fingers, "eight murders."

Jack stopped in his tracks, and Norman felt Ashley move closer to him. The man turned, a look of murder on his face. "Good luck proving that, Mr. X-Files." Jack stepped through the rain.

Ashley let out a long breath. "Well, that got us nowhere." She flexed her hands on the leather jacket. "Now what?"

"Now," said Norman, pulling his glasses from his pocket. "We prove it." Ashley looked around as he pulled the glove over his right hand.

"I highly doubt you're going to find evidence of a car that was here three years ago," she said.

"No," said Norman. "But maybe I can dig up some evidence against Jack to have him brought to the station. He might be more willing to talk there." He glanced up and saw the materials handler swing into motion. "Why don't you see if you can find a computer or a log somewhere. Maybe he keeps a history on all the cars he's sold." He pressed a finger to his glasses. "ARI recording. Location fix on four seven zero two three. Note date and time."

Ashley swung the coat from her shoulders, and moved towards the office. With another anxious glance at the tractor, Norman held out his hand and sent a bright beam through the shop. Not surprisingly, a list scrolled endlessly, highlighting key elements such as blood, gasoline, hair, and footprints. Norman highlighted the blood which branched into four different blood types, one of which belonged to Jack's. It was an auto shop. Blood wasn't exactly criminal in a place like this.

Norman tapped on Jack's name, and a quick summary of text appeared. Apparently, Jack had a deeper history than Norman thought. The man was a known car thief, and had spent time in prison for various fraud charges, including license plates. Norman looked around at the hangar. The lot was basically a trading ground for stolen vehicles.

He moved carefully to the office where Ashley hovered over an old computer. "Finding anything?" he asked.

"Nothing yet. He's had close to two-hundred Malibus come through here. I'm trying to search by sales but it's so backed up."

Norman held his hand over the office floor, sending a radial pulse. "I'll see if he's got any logs hidden somewhere." The first list moved over, and a second list scrolled next to it. Coffee mug, dried cannabis, pump-action Remington, Playboy, among other things Norman didn't care to know about. He pressed a finger against the list. "Text─" He froze suddenly. One of the items on the list highlighted. Skull fragment.

A lump of fear rose in his throat. He tapped the item, and it moved to the center of his vision. Blood was one thing. A skull was something completely different. Norman sent out another wave, and he saw a flash behind him. He turned, and a red square formed over a wide metal sheet on the ground at the other end of the hangar.

He looked back at Ashley who was still focused on the computer. Then he moved toward the metal sheet. He hadn't expected to find another body in the process of looking for the Origami Killer. As he approached the sheet, a slight hissing rose above the sound of the rain. The sheet covered what appeared to be a long tub built right into the ground. Norman kneeled carefully. He sent out another radial beam which raised another box of text. Skull fragment. Fractured DNA.

With a deep breath, he gripped the metal sheet and raised it upward, leaning sideways to see underneath.

At first it seemed to be a grimy pool of water about a foot deep. Norman leaned forward and held his glove over the water. Red text flashed in front of him. Hydrofluoric acid. He pulled his hand away, heart hammering. Hydrofluoric acid was a lot stronger than the traditional acetic acid that was used in auto shops, unless someone wanted to melt their car. Or...

A small white object captured his attention near the far edge of the pool. The red square narrowed around it. Norman didn't need to read the text to know what it was. He let the metal sheet slam down.

"Ash─"

The sheet metal screeched as Norman was knocked forward onto it. It took a moment for his nerves to register the agonizing pain on the back of his head. As he propped himself up, the metal bent under his weight and the acid rolled forward, lapping against his arm and sending up smoke. He scrambled away from it, shaking the acid off his arm.

Before he could look around him, something grabbed a fistfull of his hair, yanking him back from the acid pool. Automatically he grabbed for the arm with both hands, letting out a hoarse cry as he twisted his body and kicked back with his legs. In a blind panic, he plunged one hand into his jacket and drew his pistol, firing it behind him.

He dropped onto his side, spotting a pair of legs in front of him. Immediately, he swung his gun forward, but shrieked as a dark fist closed over his wrist, pinching hard so that the pistol fell with a clatter onto the concrete. The fist drew up, pulling him with it, and his breath was suddenly choked as a strong arm wrapped around his neck, pinning him to the man behind him.

Norman clenched the man's arm, struggling to breath. He already knew who his attacker was. Frantically, his eyes darted to the office where Ashley was nowhere to be seen. He felt a desperate hope shoot through him. Ashley had the sense to hide.

"Where you at, Miss CSI?" Jack growled close to Norman's ear. "You're slowing the party down. Or do I need to scrub your boyfriend's face a bit to get you to come out?"

Norman clenched his eyes shut, breathing heavily through his teeth. Every slight movement he made was countered by Jack's strength, forcing him to stand directly in front of him.

"Do I have to make this clear?" Jack shifted behind him and Norman felt cold steel against his temple. Terror streaked through him. "I'll let you choose," called Jack. "A bullet in the head, or a face-full of acid? Personally, I wouldn't want to melt out those pretty green eyes of his."

"Get out of here, Ashley!" Norman groaned as Jack's arm tightened around his neck and the end of the pistol pushed his head sideways. His vision darkened around the edges and his teeth began to tingle.

"We're gonna play a little game," said Jack. "I'm gonna count to five, and then X-Files here is gonna take a swim. But don't quote me on that." Jack let out a guttural laugh. "My numbers have been known to be off." Norman pulled against Jack's arm as Jack hauled him towards the acid. "One."

"Don't!" Norman cried as he stumbled. His heart raced painfully and his temples throbbed. Jack laughed as he kicked the metal sheet aside.

"Two."

Norman thrashed side to side, clawing into Jack's skin. His vision turned white as a heavy blow struck the side of his head. "Something tells me he don't want to die!" Jack roared. "Three!"

"You really think you're gonna get away with this?" said Norman through his clenched jaw. "The police will come looking for us. They'll find you."

"That's what the last cop said before I blowtorched his mouth shut," said Jack. "I'm running out of numbers, Miss CSI! Four!"

The smoke clouded Norman's vision as Jack twisted, leaning Norman over the pit of acid. Red text blinked in front of him, warning him of the imminent danger. Norman felt his body go numb. This was really happening.

"Five!"

Norman felt his body drop, then suddenly he was caught mere inches from the frothing liquid. "Well look who decided to show her pretty face."

Norman was yanked upwards into a standing position. His muscles were on fire, and he felt his heart nearly stop. Ashley stood in the doorway of the office, breathing heavily and pistol held at her side.

Jack laughed behind him. "Lose the gun, sweetheart."

"Let him go," said Ashley. Norman could hear the terror in her voice. He flexed his hands against Jack's arm, wishing desperately that the man would grow just a little bit tired.

"You don't make the orders around here, princess," said Jack. The gun tilted against Norman's head. "You want to see me decorate the shop with his brains?"

Norman watched Ashley desperately through the ARI. She'd already made the mistake of showing herself. If she lost the gun, there'd be nothing to stop Jack from killing them both. Ashley looked at him, and her wide-eyed expression was replaced with a fierce glare of determination. It made his blood run cold. Her fingers opened, and her pistol fell to the floor.

"Jesus woman," said Jack. "I shoulda just shot you both when you got here if I known it was gonna be this easy."

"And we didn't even need the ARI to know you were hiding something." Ashley's voice was strange, louder than her normal tone. She glanced between Jack and Norman, her eyes tense.

"The fuck you talking about, ARI?" said Jack through a laugh. "Why don't you do me a favor and kick your piece this way. Easy." The steel pressed against Norman's head. Of all the times he had to be wearing the ARI, it had to be now. He couldn't signal Ashley with his eyes to not comply.

Ashley pushed the pistol away with her foot so that it spun across the floor. "The ARI can see things that you can't," she continued in her strange voice. "That's how we knew you sold the car to the Origami Killer." Again, her eyes flashed in Norman's direction, and it all clicked. She wanted him to use the ARI.

"Put your hands behind your head, bitch," said Jack. "And get on your knees." Norman watched as she slowly raised her hands behind her ponytail, and sank to the ground. Apprehension mixed with his terror as he pulled at Jack's arm. What in God's name was her plan?

Ashley seemed to have lost her voice, and she stared wide-eyed at Norman. He knew what she wanted him to do, but it'd be a miracle if he could do it. He took a deep breath. In a burst of panic, Norman pushed against the man behind him, and in the second Jack yanked him straight again, Norman sent out a beam of light. It travelled across the floor and over Ashley's body, and that's when he saw it. The text _pump-action Remington_ hovering next to her.

He felt a pop in his knee and he spasmed in pain. A loud cry escaped him as he collapsed onto his knees, only to have his head yanked back by the hair again, gun to his ear.

"You think I'm playing around, X-Files?" The gun pressed harder. "Get up."

Norman caught a glimpse of Ashley's face as he rose shakily to his feet. The determination had left her eyes, and only terror remained. He had to do something. Anything to get Jack's attention off of her.

"Why do they call you Mad Jack?" said Norman. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you get that name in prison? That's not a typical name for someone's bitch." He groaned as Jack clenched the back of his neck, forcing his head down towards the acid bath.

"You wanna see what hell looks like without eyelids?" The gun practically drilled into the back of Norman's head.

"Don't! Don't, please!" Ashley's voice had genuine panic. Norman's heart raced as he stared at the swirling acid.

"You really have the balls to do it, Jack?" The terror melted away as Norman felt powerful anger take over. He balled his fists, glaring into the acid. "Why don't you prove it?"

"Oh, I will. I'll prove it to your sweet girlfriend over there too, don't you worry."

Norman clenched his eyes shut, red hot fury flowing through him. "Sorry, but I don't think she'll be impressed. Nice magnum by the way. Compensating for something?"

The gun clicked. "Compensate a bullet up your ass, bitch!"

Norman felt the corner of his mouth rise. "You mad, Jack?"

The pressure of the gun moved away.

His elbow was deep in Jack's gut, and Norman launched himself to the ground before he knew what was happening. As he covered his head, explosive pops echoed around him. Eerie silence fell, and then there was a heavy splash.

It took him a moment for him to breath again. He raised his head and looked behind him. Jack was gone, and a sickening sizzle rose from the vat of acid. The events of the last few seconds caught up to him one at a time, and Norman put it all together. He'd come so close to dying he could almost taste it. A surreal numbness fell over him. He was still alive.

A bolt of panic dashed through him, and he twisted to look at the office door. Ashley's form had vanished, and then Norman heard a groan. Something moved on floor.

He scrambled onto his feet and sprinted, dropping to his knees at the doorway. Ashley stared up at him, flat on her back with the shotgun held to her chest. Her whole body trembled. Norman thought his heart would burst through his chest as held his hand over her body and sent out a beam of light. He let out the heaviest sigh of his life.

"We did it," Ashley whispered, and a terrified smile played on her lips. "I had a plan and it worked."

The office grew brighter as Norman pulled off his sunglasses. "You bet it did," he said, taking the shotgun from her. He set it to the side and put his hand on Ashley's shoulder to raise her up.

"I didn't get us killed," she said, bracing herself with one hand against the floor and rubbing her face with the other. "And… Jesus, I killed a guy."

Norman cast a glance at the sizzling vat of acid. "You killed the shit out of him." His senses came back to him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he laughed. Then he collapsed on his side next to her, shaking in uncontrollable laughter.

He rolled onto his back, his laughter breaking as his beaten scalp touched the ground. Gradually he quieted, breaking into a fit of snorts every few seconds. He stared up at the ceiling which was plotted with holes, and ran a hand over his face. It felt good to be alive.

Finally, he sat up, catching his breath. Ashley hadn't moved, and her face was tense in concern. "Should I be worried?" she asked.

Norman smiled, bringing his knees up so he could rest his elbows against them, forehead in his hand. He nodded towards the acid bath which was still sizzling. "You want to call it in?"

"We can't _not_ call it in," said Ashley. She put her face in her hands. "Not that it will get us anywhere."

"What do you mean?" said Norman.

"I couldn't find anything on a 1983 Chevy Malibu." Ashley closed her eyes as she ran a thumb over her lip. "It wasn't anywhere any of the logs. He probably didn't keep a record of any illegal sales just in case…" She sighed. "... just in case anyone went looking."

Norman turned the ARI glasses over in his hands. "I'm really tired of dead ends," he said. He slipped the glasses over his face, and held his palm outward as a beam of light traveled through the office. The list scrolled next to him. "Filter," he said. "Text." The list paused for a second, then a second list appeared.

He was aware of Ashley watching him as he scrolled through the second list. It occurred to him how odd it must look from her perspective. He flicked away the irrelevant items until he had a small list of of unusual books.

Norman stood up, dusting off his suit, and held out his hand for Ashley to grab. "There's a few handwritten logs in the filing cabinet behind you," he said as Ashley stood up next to him. "I'm going to check in the desk." Ashley's wide eyes filled with focus as she turned away from him, and Norman kneeled in front of the desk as he searched through the drawers.

The desk was filled mostly with magazines and old receipts. Norman pushed aside a glass pipe, rifling through scattered paperwork. It seemed Jack did most of the business transactions himself. A sick feeling past through Norman as he remembered Jack was still dissolving in the acid bath. He rubbed the bruise on the back of his head. Jack could cook a while longer.

"Norman…"

Norman glanced up at Ashley who had paused over a thick leather notebook. He stood up and moved towards her, looking over her shoulder. "2005 Toyota Corolla, new tires, paint job, plates…" He turned a page of the notebook, energy flowing through him. "1995 Corvette, Dodge Charger, plates and tags. This is it." He put a finger to his glasses. "Scan, 1983 Cheverolet Malibu. Ashley, start at the first page and keep turning the pages until I tell you to stop," he said.

Ashley flipped the pages to the front. Norman focused as red squares appeared over each entry. They rearranged themselves as each page turned. "Quicker," he said. She put her thumb against the pages and flipped them so that they were nearly a blur. "Stop." Norman stared at an entry as Ashley held the notebook open. "Okay, keep going." The air blew against his face as she flipped the pages again. He took note of the years on the entries, gradually heading upward. It would have been anywhere between 2006 and 2011 that the car was sold.

"Stop," he said. He moved closer to Ashley's shoulder as he stared at the entry. He pressed his finger against it. "1983 red Chevrolet Malibu January 2007… blue paint job, tires, oil, plates." His heart quickened as he read the details. "Sold April 2007. Paco Mendez."

Ashley turned to him, excitement in her eyes. "You think this is the car?"

"This is the car," said Norman, forming a square in front of him using his hands. "And this could be the killer. Paco Mendez. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." He drew his hands apart, forming a summary with an image of a man in front of him. He scanned the summary, feeling a cloud of dread fall over him. He hadn't expected this. Scrapyards and mud were one thing, but this…

Norman crossed his arms and pressed a knuckle to his mouth. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he didn't want to do it. It took him a while to notice Ashley still watching him, the leather notebook closed against her chest. Norman cleared his throat.

"Maybe you should…" He motioned toward the doorway. "You should call that in."

"Are you sure?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You look kind of sick."

Norman nodded, adjusting the ARI. "There's not going to be much left of him if we wait around." Ashley's brown eyes clenched shut, and she shook her head as she pulled her phone from her back jeans pocket. She moved out of the office, and Norman turned back to the text.

He flicked through the summary which was much longer than he anticipated. But the more he read, the more he became convinced that Paco was not the Origami Killer. The man was obsessed with two things: drugs and sex, in any shape or form. Besides a brief period in jail for drug trafficking, Paco's rap sheet was fairly clear. Even Norman could see the man was a pig, not the deeply disturbed killer he was looking for.

Norman swept the summary away and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. Origami Killer or not, Paco owned the killer's car. And that meant there was a fairly good chance he knew the Origami Killer himself.

Norman turned to the doorway, and realized Ashley's voice was growing louder. He stepped out of the office and moved towards her.

"Wait, what?" Ashley slowly spun in a circle, head tilted sideways against her phone. "No I didn't hear that!" She looked at Norman, and her eyes grew wide. "That's… that's _great!_ " The forced joy in her voice nearly made Norman laugh, and he ran a hand over his mouth to be sure he wasn't smiling. "Yeah, we'll be right there." She straightened and looked at Norman, terror lined in her face. It stopped Norman's heart cold, and he slowly lowered his hand.

"They tracked Ethan Mars to a motel," she said. "He's been arrested."


	13. Chapter 13: Ethan Mars

When Norman stepped through the sliding glass doors, he thought he'd entered a huge party. Police officers stood in groups around the lobby, laughing over cups of hot coffee. The conference room was open and several workers were setting up chairs and cameras in front of the podium. It seemed every officer in the precinct was there. Even Captain Perry had left his usual spot and was standing in the conference room, fumbling with his tie.

Norman automatically moved through the crowd towards the interrogation room at the end of the lobby. He didn't doubt Blake was already at work on Ethan Mars, and if it was anything like Nathaniel, Ethan was most likely already unconscious. As Norman passed the entrance to the conference room, he turned and cast a look at Ashley. She sighed heavily as she veered towards the large entrance.

"Good luck," she said. Norman couldn't help the despair that fell over him.

"You too," he muttered. She had about as much chance getting Perry to listen as Norman had of stopping Blake.

Norman strode quickly down the hall and grasped the doorknob to the interrogation room. It was locked. A thick anger coursed through him as he pushed his shoulder into the door and pounded his fist against it. Blake had the nerve to lock the interrogation room, once again, against policy. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Norman turned and moved down the hall, stepping into the observation room which was conveniently left unlocked.

Two police officers looked up as Norman entered the room. A large two-way mirror took up most of one wall, giving him a view into the interrogation room. Norman stepped to the window with frantic energy, ignoring the officers next to him. There, handcuffed and slumped over the table was the miserable form of Ethan Mars.

Besides looking ragged and unkempt, he seemed to be okay. Ethan stared down at his clenched fists on the table as if he wasn't aware of the situation around him. As Norman stepped back from the window, he spotted Blake resting his shoulder against one wall in the interrogation room. Norman felt his anger boil. Blake was alone with him.

Norman turned to the officers. "Has he confessed?" They both gave him blank looks.

"That you, Norman?" Blake's voice rang through the speaker, and Norman balled his fists at the fake friendliness in Blake's tone. "Glad you made it. I was worried you were gonna miss all the fun."

"Why's the door locked, Blake?" said Norman. "And why are you alone with a suspect?"

"Hey, I'm not alone." Blake turned to the window and Norman saw that he had removed his necktie, rolling it over his hands. "You can see me from there, can't you?"

Norman looked around him in disbelief. The officers seemed completely undisturbed by what was happening. He turned to the camera which was set up in front of the window. The recording light was off, and the screen was dark. Norman ran a hand over his face. "You psychopathic bastard…"

"Looks like Mars is ready for another round, boys." Blake moved to the table and leaned against it. "What do you say, Ethan? Ready to tell us where Shaun is?"

Norman's heart hammered as he watched Ethan. The man continued to stare at his clenched hands. He made no indications towards Blake, and Norman felt a swell of admiration for him.

Blake moved off the desk. "Alright. I got all day, you know." He curled the tie around both hands. Then he swung his arms over Ethan's head, wrapping the tie tightly over the man's neck.

Norman bolted forward, pounding his fists against the window. "Blake!" he screamed. "Blake stop!" Panic shot through him as he watched Ethan bare his teeth and close his eyes, his face quickly turning red. Norman lunged at one of the officers next to him, grabbing him by the collar. "You're just letting this happen?" The officer shoved him away, and Norman felt hot sweat bead his forehead. Without a second thought, he darted through the door and ran down the hallway towards the interrogation room.

He threw his shoulder against the door, gripping the knob tightly in an effort to break it open. It was no use without a key. He pushed back from the door, then raced forward again, bashing his shoulder into it. The door crunched. With frantic energy, Norman leaned back and slammed into the door one more time. It broke open, and Norman swung his arms to regain his balance as he stumbled into the room.

He didn't hesitate. Before Blake could move, Norman barreled into him, slamming him into the opposite wall. The force nearly cracked the concrete. As Norman recovered, he felt a fist slam into his gut and everything went white.

"Nice job, asshole," said Blake, and Norman was pulled straight as Blake grabbed him by the collar. "I been waiting for a reason to bash your head through a wall."

The room went sideways as Blake flung him into the table. Norman struggled to straighten himself, bringing one leg out and kicking outward as Blake marched toward him. Blake staggered, and with a jolt of panic, Norman twisted his body sideways as Blake slammed his fist toward him, hitting the table instead. Norman pushed off him, launching himself back against the mirror.

"You gonna fight me or not, Norman?" Blake picked up one of the metal chairs, angling his body as he prepared to swing. "Or are you just a fucking pussy!" He threw the chair, and Norman ducked as there was a loud crash above him. He covered his head with his hands under a shower of broken glass.

Footsteps marched toward him, and Norman launched himself from the wall, catching Blake around the waist and pinning him against the table. Panic mixed with his fury as he swung his fist, cracking Blake in the jaw and sending waves of agony through his knuckles. Blake twisted sideways from the blow and came back with a balled fist which knocked Norman backwards, his cheek numb with pain. Agony erupted in his ribs, and before he could recover, Blake had gripped him by his jacket and flung him into the wall.

A fist clamped tightly around his throat. Norman gripped Blake's arm as Blake held him steady. He barely noticed that Blake was punching him over and over again at every inch of his body. Norman coughed as he struggled to breath. Blake was going to kill him.

Suddenly the blows stopped, and the pain settled. Norman sucked in air, opening his eyes just enough to make sense of the scene.

Blake's eyes were alight in fury, his fist balled near his shoulder as he was poised to punch again. A metal glint captured Norman's attention, and his heart nearly stopped as he saw Ashley standing rigid behind Blake, her face tense in panic and both hands clasped around the gun at Blake's head.

It seemed almost an eternity that the three of them were frozen, the silence only broken by their heavy breathing. Norman's hands shook from the effort of holding onto Blake's arm, and he swallowed heavily as he looked into Blake's furious eyes.

"Get the hell out of here, Blake," said Ashley, barely above a whisper. Norman's heart hammered in his chest. If Blake put one finger on her…

Blake's hand loosened on Norman's neck, his eyes still firmly locked on Norman's. Air filled Norman's lungs and his vision cleared. He watched as Blake slowly backed away, the corner of Blake's mouth rising.

"I always knew you were a god damn pussy, Norman," said Blake. He cast his eyes sideways at Ashley who still held the gun firmly pointed at him. "You want Ethan Mars so bad? You can share a fucking cell with him." Blake turned, his boots crunching against the broken glass on the floor as he moved out of the room and disappeared.

Norman fell forward, throwing his arm around Ashley's shoulders as he struggled to stand. There was no time to recover. No time to think.

"Ethan…" Norman looked up to see Ethan slumped forward on the table, his head in his arms.

"He's breathing," said Ashley, helping Norman forward to lean against the table. He felt her hand against his face as she gazed at him.

Norman wrapped his hand around hers, looking into her eyes. "Cuff me."

Her eyes went wide. "What are you─"

"Just do it." He could hear the commotion in the lobby. They were out of time. Norman kneeled and slammed his hands onto the table. Ashley was silent as she stared at him, her wide eyes pleading. But Norman returned it with a fierce glare. Finally she moved forward, pulling a set of cuffs from her belt and snapping them onto his wrists.

Police officers burst into the room just as she'd finished, their guns drawn. They moved towards Norman but slowed as he looked up at them. Captain Perry walked in after them, adjusting his tie. Perry looked at the broken mirror, then gazed down at Norman, shaking his head.

"Well, this is an absolute mess," said Perry. "I don't know why I expected anything different." Norman clenched his hands as Perry walked toward him. Perry motioned towards Ashley. "Good job, Gibbons. You can remove the handcuffs. I don't think Agent Jayden is going anywhere. Ah─" Perry raised a hand as Ashley moved forward. " _Jayden's_ handcuffs. Not Mars'."

Norman felt burning disgust deep in his gut at Perry's cynical tone. He glared up at him as Ashley leaned forward to remove his handcuffs. She threw Norman a terrified glance as she moved away, rubbing her arm with one hand.

"Why don't you take Mr. Mars to one of the cells, seeing as the interrogation room is out of service," said Perry. "Agent Jayden, come with me."

Norman stood up slowly, his nerves practically on fire from anxiety. He avoided Ashley's gaze as he followed Perry out of the room, though a faint relief lingered in his chest. They'd been just quick enough for Ashley to have avoided suspicion. But that was where his plan ended. Now Norman was at the mercy of the law without boundaries.

As they moved out of the hallway, Blake appeared, folding his arms over his chest. Norman fought to ignore the smug look on his face as they moved toward Perry's office. Footsteps behind him told him Blake was following them. Figures, Blake wouldn't want to miss a second of this.

Perry held the door open as Norman and Blake entered the office. Norman stood next to the desk, willing his heart to stop pounding. Though he was terrified of what was about to happen, he was glad Ashley was with Ethan Mars. At least there was one cop in the station who cared whether Ethan lived or died.

"I don't know what your issue is, Jayden," said Perry as he moved around the desk to his chair. "And frankly, I don't care." He sat down at his chair, folding one leg over the other. "You refuse to help us at every turn, make wild accusations, and now you're attacking our officers. Can you see my problem here, Jayden?"

Norman stared at a spot on the wall and didn't answer. Nothing he could say would help the situation. Perry leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "You wanted to make a difference here, Jayden. But just because you didn't catch the Origami Killer doesn't mean you can destroy the god damn station. Had I known your ego was that big, I'd have sent you back to Washington yesterday."

Norman couldn't stop his breath of laughter. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his face, shaking his head slowly. Their stupidity had no bounds. It was almost better for them to believe that he wanted credit for the capture of the killer, rather than an actual solution to the case. At least they could hate him for something that didn't exist.

He ran a finger over his eye, and looked at Perry who stared at him in disbelief. Blake didn't even bother to hide his smile.

"You think this is a game, Jayden?" Perry's eyes narrowed at him. "The only reason you're not under arrest is because I'm giving you the option to leave right now."

Norman could see Blake's face turn white out of the corner of his eye. Blake stepped forward, dropping his arms to his side.

"Leave? You're gonna let this asshole just _leave?_ " Blake rested his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "After everything he's done? Christ, he just now tried to kill me!"

Another snort of laughter shook Norman. "Don't worry, Blake. I'm pretty sure a bruise isn't fatal."

Blake moved toward Norman, his fist raised.

"That's enough!" Perry stood up, and Blake froze in his tracks, his eyes still murderous. Perry pointed at Norman. "Agent Jayden, get out of my precinct. Pack whatever you have, and just get out." He sat at his desk and folded his hands. "I wouldn't be in too much of a rush to get back to Washington though. You might not have a job left when you get there."

Norman glanced at Blake who still glared at him. Then he turned and moved toward the door. No one spoke or even breathed it seemed as he stepped out of the office and into the lobby.

He stood still, his hands pressed to his face. He felt numb. Somewhat empty. The busy office sounds echoed around him, and several of the officers turned to look at him curiously. Behind him, he could hear the muffled voices as Blake and Perry argued in the office.

Somehow it felt worse simply to be dismissed from the case. He half wished he'd just been arrested. It would have been easier. Yesterday morning he would have given anything to finally be let go, but now… he felt lost. Abandoned. How could he simply go back to Washington knowing that he was leaving all this behind?

He staggered to the water dispenser, putting a cup under the fountain and pressing the tab. It bubbled and he slammed his fist on the tank, releasing a clear stream of water. Two days. He'd only been here two days and it had grown on him this much. He raised the cup to his mouth and swallowed the water, groaning in pain as his jaw ached. When he lowered the cup again, red swirled in the leftover water. He dropped the cup into the nearby trashcan, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

There was nothing for him to pack. At least the closet office they gave him had nothing in it worth keeping. Norman moved through the cubicles, barely noticing the officers around him as he headed for the sliding doors. A slight pang hit him, and he turned to look behind him.

Something touched his shoulder. He twisted back again, and felt an overwhelming rush of several emotions at once. Ashley stood in front of him, her brown eyes soft and a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. She ran a thumb over her bottom lip.

"They didn't arrest you?" she said. Norman guessed it was supposed to be a casual question, but he could hear the immense relief in her voice.

"They fired me." He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, _they_ didn't fire me. I mean I'm going to be fired." He sighed and looked at her. This was yet another thing he hadn't expected since yesterday morning. Having only just rekindled his friendship, he was losing her again.

Norman grasped Ashley's shoulders and looked at her. "Whatever happens, do everything you can to keep Ethan Mars safe. The Origami Killer will kill again, and then Ethan Mars will be proven innocent. I don't have much time, but I can leave you with all the evidence I've gathered. You can find the Origami Killer, Ashley," he said, pressing his palm against her cheek and catching her gaze. "I know you can find him."

Ashley stared at him for a moment, her wide brown eyes the most clueless Norman had ever seen them. Then she tilted her head to the side to look out the glass doors. "I don't know about catching the Origami Killer," she said. "But you're not going to have to worry about Ethan Mars."

Norman followed her gaze. For a moment, he was at a loss as to what she was looking at. Then two figures caught his attention, moving away from the precinct. One was wearing a particular leather coat and cap. As Norman watched, one of the figures looked back, and Norman recognized the short dark hair and the sad brown eyes of the woman he'd seen earlier that day with Ethan. She leaned into the man next to her, wrapping her arm around his waist as they disappeared into the rain.

Norman ran a hand over his mouth, dumbstruck. He looked at Ashley, a wave of relief flowing through him. Ashley smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I hope the jacket wasn't a family heirloom or something. I guess I'll owe you a new one."

For a moment, Norman could only stare at her. Then he breathed a laugh. "How did you…"

Ashley's eyes widened. She motioned to the door. "Well I─ you mean─ that wasn't part of your plan?" Her thumb grazed her lip. "I took him to the cell, gave him the coat and hat and I just…" She made a walking motion with her fingers. "... walked him out of here. It was actually kind of incredible. Perry and Blake weren't there so I guess that made it easier."

Norman gazed through the glass windows at the falling rain. It took a while for it all to sink in. Ethan was gone. Perry and Blake were out of a scapegoat. And Ashley was right. Norman was with them the whole time, which meant he couldn't be blamed for Ethan's escape. Norman smiled and shook his head. He didn't want to be there when Blake and Perry discovered Ethan's disappearance.

He felt Ashley move next to him, and the sliding glass door opened. As she stepped out into the rain, she paused and looked back at him. "Well?"

Norman stared at her. "Well what?" Ashley sighed and dropped her shoulders.

"Well… are we going to find the Origami Killer or not?" She folded her arms across her chest. "You're not just going to high-tail it back to Washington, are you?"

Norman scratched the back of his head and closed his eyes. This had been the longest day of his life. He'd nearly been melted in a vat of acid, almost shot, beaten by Blake, and removed from the case. And now he was going to interview a possible lead on the Origami Killer which was bound to be a life or death situation. He felt a sad bubble of humor. At least the ARI withdrawal had been at a minimum.

He moved forward into the rain next to her, and tossed her the keys. "You owe me a new coat."


	14. Chapter 14: Club Synn

Norman's head was beginning to pound as he removed the ARI glasses, leaning forward in the passenger seat and rubbing his forehead. The sky was growing dark, and the rain attacked the windows with a bit more force. They'd entered the brightly lit city, and Norman felt as if he'd left Pennsylvania altogether. Tall skyscrapers rose into the darkness, supporting the damp clouds like pillars. The streets were lined with strategically placed trees, and illuminated signs glowed in between them. Though the roads were busy with traffic, few people walked the sidewalks.

Ashley had been quiet most of the drive besides the occasional inquiry for directions. Norman still hadn't determined if she was worried about the withdrawal or his use of triptocaine, or perhaps a combination of both. Despite the obvious danger, he seemed to be managing the symptoms without the triptocaine. A migraine was much easier to deal with than passing out cold.

The car turned into a wide parking lot in front of a tall building of mostly glass windows. Norman saw Ashley glance sideways at him as she slowed the car. "This is the place?"

Norman slipped his glasses on, and the red marker appeared in the center of the lot. "This is it." He pulled the glasses off, putting them in his coat pocket.

"But…" Ashley leaned forward as she looked around. "Where is everyone?"

The parking lot appeared to be completely empty. Norman leaned sideways to look up at the building. It didn't surprise him that the ARI had led them there. It looked completely ordinary. But even an ordinary exterior had to have its secret exposed somewhere.

"Drive around the back," said Norman, pulling off his glove. He gazed at the building as the car moved around it. He didn't doubt the ARI, but if he had been using a standard GPS, he'd be convinced that the building was empty.

The area seemed to grow darker as they approached the back of the building. For a moment, Norman worried the ARI had a made a mistake for the first time. Then he spotted it. A dark entrance leading down into a parking lot underneath the building.

"There," he said. "Drive slow."

Ashley snorted next to him. "Who do you think I am?" Norman looked sideways at her, and she glared back at him, her lips pursed. The sky vanished above them as they dropped down into the dark garage.

It was packed with luxury vehicles lined side by side and glinting in the low light. Norman couldn't help scanning the vehicles for a Chevy Malibu even though it was pointless. The deeper they went, the more tense his nerves became. Occasional people walked by, arm in arm and seemingly unable to walk. Norman watched a group of people at a shiny car, one standing up straight over the hood and lowering a cylinder from his nose.

A bright light signaled the end of the descent. As they pulled forward, a large set of double steel doors appeared, guarded by two heavy men dressed in black. Ashley steered the car in between two gleaming vehicles and looked sideways at Norman.

"Are you sure about this?" she said as she turned the car off. Norman felt for his sidearm and failed to stop his sigh.

"To be honest, I haven't been sure of anything lately," he said. Ashley's eyebrows narrowed, and Norman twisted in his seat to face her. "What?"

"I just…" She sighed and pressed her face into the steering wheel. Then she sat up straight and looked at him. "No cop vibes this time. I really don't want to be shot at and I really don't want you to be… melted."

Norman stared at her for a second. "Ashley, I'm not sure they're just going to let two random people just walk into this place."

"And you think they're going to let an FBI agent and a cop walk in?" Ashley arched her back and unbuckled her belt, pulling her gear from around her waist. Norman rubbed his forehead.

"Look, going in unarmed is just asking to get us killed," he said. "Think of where we'd be if we'd just walked into the scrapyard as civilians."

Ashley glared sideways at him, and Norman was reminded of the nervous determination he'd seen when she confronted him about the triptocaine. "I am," she said.

Norman fell back in his seat, frustration burning through him. It was not only suicide, it was just plain foolish. His suit was by now so tattered that he looked as if he'd jumped from a train. And Ashley wasn't dressed at all for the occasion. They'd be laughed from the entrance if they weren't simply shot on the spot.

Then a numb resolution fell over him. Her plans hadn't been a complete disaster as he expected. The stand-off with Nathaniel, the shotgun in Jack's office, the disguise for Ethan Mars… luck seemed to be on her side. As clueless as she was, things seemed to work for her. And against his better judgement, Norman found himself silently agreeing with her.

He ran his hands over his face, dread filling him. "I can't believe we're doing this," he said under his breath as he removed his sidearm. He placed it in the glove compartment, then turned to look at Ashley. She returned his look with bright eyes, then opened the car door and stepped out.

Deep, rhythmic vibrations shook the concrete as Norman exited the car. He followed Ashley to the double doors, his heart hammering in his chest. Everything about this place screamed danger, even though it seemed so innocent from the outside. The two guards glared at them as they approached, and one looked Norman up and down. Norman nervously folded his jacket closed as he stepped towards the guards.

"We're here to see Paco," he said in as confident a tone as he could manage. The guards were silent as they stared at him, and he squared his shoulders. "Paco Mendez."

"Why don't you fuck off?" said one of the guards. Norman felt his face flush.

"We've got business with him," he said. He felt Ashley move next to him as one of the guards moved forward.

"So what? Paco has lots of customers. Get the hell out of here."

"Look, I don't mean to cause trouble─"

"Did you hear what I said?" The guard reached behind him, and Norman recognized the gesture as a serious threat. He took a step back, his heart racing.

Ashley bumped into him. He glanced at her and felt a jolt of anxiety. She'd loosened her hair from her hairband so that her hair fell in fluffy waves just grazing her shoulders, and her eyes were ablaze in determination. She stepped toward the guard, nearly a foot shorter than the burly man, and Norman felt his body grow cold as she ran a hand along the guard's chest. The guard leaned into her, a slight smile playing in his eyes. Norman forced himself to stay rooted to the spot, though every fiber in his body was telling him to pull the two apart.

The guard murmured something, and Ashley twisted her hand, revealing a blue tube. Norman ran a hand over his face as he burst into sweat. He couldn't believe it. She'd taken a tube of triptocaine from him…

Ashley turned toward him as the guard looked up at him. Her eyes were full of terrified focus, but the look the guard gave Norman made him feel even more nervous. The guard smiled and stepped back.

"Paco Mendez will be happy to conduct his business with you, Mr. Jayden," said the guard. "He's on the top floor. Take the elevator at the end of the room." The guard opened one of the double doors, and the vibrating dubstep roared from within the dark gap.

His nerves still on fire, Norman marched forward, cupping Ashley under her arm and pulling her through the double doors. Bright lights flashed in front of them, revealing a long dark hallway which seemed to throb in tune with the loud music.

He turned to her, pinching his eyes shut with his thumb and forefinger. "I can't─ why didn't─ how could you─" A hundred emotions battled in his mind. When he opened his eyes, Ashley had leaned into him.

"Kill me later," she called into his ear. "Let's just get this over with and get out alive." She moved back, her brown eyes flashing in the strobe lights.

Norman breathed out heavily, his muscles finally starting to calm despite the claustrophobic atmosphere. He fumbled in his coat pocket, then moved forward. "Stay close to me, you hear?" he called. Ashley nodded, and Norman moved down the hallway into the club.

The room was busy with moving bodies and pulsing lights. Sweat filled the air, and the atmosphere was thick with heat. It was impossible to tell figures apart, and everything seemed to congeal in one writhing mass. Hands floated in the air and wet bodies moved against eachother. Overhead, slender figures slithered along ropes and poles, taking different poses as the strobe broke up their movement.

Norman kept his head down as he entered the crowd of black figures. Immediately he became disoriented, blocked in one direction and forced to take another. Skin pressed against him, and soon the chill of nervousness was replaced by hot sweat. He glanced back to make sure Ashley was following him, and her wide eyes reflected his own nervous anxiety. He found an opening along the edge and pulled her towards it, met with groups of people deep in business. It was difficult for him to look away though what he saw wrenched his gut. Some figures were draped in blank stupor, others wrapped around themselves in motion much different than the dance that surrounded them.

The further they moved through the crowd, the louder the music seemed to grow. It filled Norman's head so that his temples pounded, and the tingling started in his hands. He tried to press his hands to his eyes, but found he couldn't lift his arms. There were too many people. It was too loud. Too tight. The darkness took over everything. Something touched his neck, and as he turned to find Ashley again, he was met with a different face breathing hot air against his mouth before drifting away into the moving crowd.  
Norman spun, his heart racing. He moved through the crowd, stretching his arm out as if he were swimming between bodies. It was impossible to see between the darkness and the light. Everything was in motion. It was all the same temperature. The same texture. The heavy music threatened to pound him into floor. He gazed up to steady himself, and felt his heart nearly stop as he stared at a ceiling of squirming blue dots.

Norman felt his mouth drop open, and suddenly he was pulled to the side. Figures slithered past him as he moved, finally able to find a clear footing. The strobes blinded him as if fighting his way forward, and he held his hand up against it. The bodies disappeared, the air cooled, and Norman raised his head.

Ashley stood in front of him, her back against the wall. She pressed one hand against her face while the other gripped Norman's wrist. A shallow relief swept over him as he moved towards her.

"You okay?" he said. She nodded, standing up straight. Her face was beaded with sweat and her normally wide eyes were weary. They'd only been separated for a moment, but she looked about as traumatized as he felt.

He did his best to shake off his anxiety and moved along the wall. The tension on his arm assured him Ashley still had a hold of him. They passed several figures, and then Norman felt his heart leap. A small square light illuminated an arrow on the wall. He quickly stepped toward it and slammed his fist against it. The doors opened immediately, and Norman pulled Ashley into the brightly lit elevator. He hit the fourth floor button and stepped back, savoring the space.

The music was muffled as the doors closed. Norman hunched forward, his hands on his knees, and Ashley leaned back against the wall. For a moment, the only sound was their heavy breathing.

"I feel like I just survived the roughest sex in my life," said Ashley. Norman breathed an exhausted laugh, glancing up at her.

"Are you trying to tell me something about yourself?" he said.

Ashley tilted her head sideways at him, throwing him a glare. "Fuck you, Norman," she said. She coughed lightly, then a smile spread across her face as she tilted her head back.

The doors slid open, and Norman straightened. A low lit corridor stretched in front of them, ending in a set of black doors. A guard stood halfway down the hall and turned to look in their direction. Norman's senses told him he was entering a far more dangerous area than the one he'd just left, but somehow it felt easier to breathe now that he was out of the club.

He put a hand under Ashley's arm as they left the elevator which closed behind them. Hallways branched off from the main corridor, but Norman was confident about the direction. As they stepped near the black doors, the guard moved in front of them, holding his hand up to stop them.

"Sorry, this area is off limits," said the guard. Norman paused, thinking quickly of a comeback when the coarse static echoed from the guard's walkie-talkie.

"It's fine, Pedro. Let him in."

The guard threw them both a confused glare, then stood square with Norman. "Hold out your arms."

Norman raised his hands, and the guard patted him down around his midsection and down his legs. The guard moved to the side, and checked Ashley's sides and legs, albeit with more smoothness to his touch. Then the guard stepped aside, waving them in with a flick of his hand.

Norman moved past the guard glancing behind him to make sure Ashley was following him. As they approached the doors, he felt his face flush. He couldn't be quite sure of the muffled noises leaking beyond the doors… no. He was _very_ sure. Norman paused, running a hand over his face. So far, Paco was living up to every inch of his ARI summary. It still hadn't prepared Norman for witnessing it first-hand. He felt a rush of air as Ashley stepped past him, and before he could stop her, she opened one of the black doors.

The exhausted moaning rang down the corridor, and from the hallway, Norman could see Ashley's face turn white. "Eh, señorita come in!" A thick Spanish voice was barely audible over the moans. "Oi! Let's cut it there! Got some business here."

Somehow it seemed easier now that Ashley had taken the brunt of it. Norman moved forward, reaching over her shoulder and pushing the door open further. Still, he wasn't ready for the scene in front of him. He rubbed his forehead as he stepped inside the room, trying as hard as he could to pretend he wasn't aware of the two women sliding off eachother. The walls were bathed in rippled blue light that was cast from a massive fishtank which took up one side of the room. A bar made up the other side, showcasing a grand assortment of bottles and glasses. The room was bordered with shelves displaying high dollar collectibles such as guitars, glass ornaments, and swords.

Norman stepped towards a large mahogany desk which faced a set of white couches, and forced himself to glance towards them. A man in a zebra-patterned jacket stood over a tripod, adjusting a camera which was pointed at the two women. "Ah, that's it! Keep yourselves wet. This won't take long." The man turned, gazing at Norman through green tinted glasses. "You must be señor Jayden. I'm Paco Mendez." He held out a hand, but before Norman could shake it, Paco pulled it back again, switching to his other hand. Paco chuckled. "The ladies keep me busy today. Let's make this quick, eh?"

Norman shook his hand, and Paco moved around the desk. As Norman shifted towards him, he spotted Ashley at one end of the desk. Her eyebrows were narrowed over her bright eyes, and her mouth slightly open in disgust as she watched the two women on the couch. It seemed to take ages before she noticed that Norman was watching her, and she raised her eyes up to the ceiling, blowing a bit of hair out of her face.

"You're the guy with the powder, right?" Paco filled a shotglass and drank it, his eyes falling on Ashley. "Mmm." Paco lowered the glass. "If your product is as lovely as your women, you're gonna be a rich man. Buy yourself a new suit first. You look like shit." He laughed as he poured himself another glass.

Norman stepped forward, resting his hands on the desk. "I'm just here to make a trade, if you're willing to negotiate."

Paco motioned toward him with the glass. "Straight to the point, eh? Let's see what you got."

Norman glanced at Ashley who wrapped her arms around herself and gave him an encouraging nod. Struggling to beat down his shame, he reached into his coat pocket and grasped one of the vials. He set it down on the desk on its cap so that it stood upright, glinting sapphire in the low light.

Paco leaned forward, staring at the vial. "This is─ whoa!" He picked up the vial and held it up into the light. "Tripto? Man, you gotta have serious connections to get this stuff!" Paco clicked open the cap, tipping some of the blue powder onto his hand before bowing his head and inhaling it. He sniffed a few times, and nodded. "Clean! Real clean! Man, it's about time I got some classy product coming through my store."

Paco sprinkled a small pile onto his finger, and moved towards Ashley. "So tripto and women, huh? What's your price?" Norman fought the urge to rush forward as Paco stepped next to her and held his hand to her face. Ashley glared at Paco menacingly, which on her face was somewhat comical. She turned her head away. "No?" said Paco. Ashley mumbled something and Paco leaned into her. _"_ _Qué?_ _"_

"M allergic," said Ashley. Paco burst into laughter, scattering the triptocaine into the air. Norman sighed heavily as Paco hunched over the desk, gasping between laughs. At least Paco had a sense of humor.

"Hey, I don't care as long as she's not allergic to dicks," said Paco, moving back toward his chair. Norman fought to keep himself from balling his fists.

"She's not for sale," he said. The seriousness in his tone surprised even him, and the room seemed to fall silent. Paco froze in the middle of pouring another drink, and the slick sounds behind him faded.

Paco glanced up, his eyes narrowed. For a moment, Norman worried that he might have cost them their only chance at negotiation. Then Paco chuckled and resumed pouring. "Alright, alright. But let me tell you." He supported the shotglass with his thumb and middle finger as he pointed at Norman. "You're missing a valuable opportunity to make a lot of money."

"I'll deal with it," said Norman. Again, deep anger leaked into his tone. He breathed in slowly to settle his nerves. "Let's just talk trade. I'll give you the triptocaine. All I want is the name of the man who drives the 1983 Chevrolet Malibu that you bought three years ago from the scrapyard."

Paco looked at him over the rim of the shotglass. It was difficult to read his face, but Norman thought he saw a flash of worry in Paco's eyes. Paco lowered the glass and pursed his lips. "That's a really specific trade. What does a guy like you need with that information?"

Norman racked his brain quickly for a solid answer. He had no way of knowing if Paco was friends with the man, or if he was simply protecting himself. Norman flexed his hands on the desk. "Let's just say he killed someone I know. And maybe I want to kill him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Norman saw Ashley clench her hands on her arms. Paco shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. "You crazy. You think you're gonna kill him?" Paco leaned forward, the lights glinting on his glasses. "You got any idea who he is?"

It was difficult for Norman to hide his excitement. They were so close to an answer, he could almost taste it. "I just want his name."

There was a tap as Paco set the glass on the desk. "That's an expensive trade, señor Jayden. I don't think triptocaine is gonna cut it." Paco stared at him as if daring him for a counter. Norman struggled to think of something else. If triptocaine wasn't going to get the name of the Origami Killer, what else could he do to pry the information out of him?

Paco looked past Norman, and a sly smile spread across his face. "I tell you what." Paco stepped toward Ashley who drew up her shoulders and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "I'm making a video here. Your woman stars in it, and we call it a deal?"

This time, Norman felt his face flush as he stood up straight. "I told you she's not for sale."

" _Everything is for sale,_ " Paco's voice became a growl and he pointed at Norman, "that _I_ say is for sale. You walked into my club. I own everyone in here. You don't make the deals." Paco glared at Norman, and Norman fiercely stared back at him. Ashley trembled as she looked back and forth between them.

Norman plunged his hand into his pocket. "This is twenty grand's worth." He dropped the handful of blue vials onto the desk. "It's everything I've got." He didn't need to wear the ARI to see Paco's eyes light up at the sight of the triptocaine now rolling across the desk. But as soon as Norman saw it, Paco's eyes shot back to him again.

"You had all that, and you were just gonna trade me a few grams of triptocaine?" Paco moved back in front of the desk, and Norman's heart nearly stopped as Paco drew a pistol from his zebra skin coat. "You trying to slight me, señor Jayden?"

Norman could hear Ashley's frightened breaths. He forced himself to keep his composure. "All I want is a name," he said.

"And all I want is everything you got," said Paco. Norman felt sweat bead his forehead as he glanced at the pistol in Paco's hand. There had to be something else. Something he was missing. Paco was only interested in two things: drugs and sex. Drugs apparently weren't enough. But there was no way Norman was stooping that low.

He looked at Ashley who looked back at him, her eyebrows narrowed in tense worry. Her plan had gotten them this far, but it looked like they had finally hit a dead end. Norman dropped his head and flexed his shoulders. He still had one last card to play, and it wouldn't get them any closer to the killer's name.

Norman looked up at Paco. "I'm changing the deal," he said. "I give you all my triptocaine, and you let us leave."

Paco's eyes narrowed in surprise. Norman struggled to control his guilt. It was the only thing he had left to negotiate. The only ounce of control he had left in this situation.

Ashley stepped forward. "Norman…"

The softness in her voice caused Norman to bolt upright. He turned to her and raised a finger, fury burning through him. " _No._ "

Ashley froze as he stared into her brown eyes. A dozen emotions seemed to dart across her face, defiance being the strongest. But Norman's determination kept him focused. This was one line he wasn't going to cross, whether or not she wanted to make her own decision. They'd followed her plan, and it was over now. The most important thing was getting out alive.

Norman turned back to Paco, still aware of Ashley's eyes on him. "Twenty grand in triptocaine," said Norman. "Just to let us leave." He gazed over the barrel of the pistol and watched as Paco's eyes twitched in contemplation. If Norman had read the ARI summary right, Paco would accept the deal. If not, Norman might as well pull the trigger himself.

Paco's crooked smile appeared. He cocked the gun sideways, and fitted it back into his jacket. "Now that's a deal we can both agree on."  
Norman barely stopped a heavy sigh of relief. He stood up straighter as Paco rolled a vial across the desk so that it clicked against the others. "I mean, how can I say no when someone walks into my office and drops a bunch of triptocaine on my desk, eh?" said Paco, his voice breaking in laughter. He waved his hand and sat in his chair. "Go on, get outta here."

Norman's body was practically on fire from adrenaline. Without hesitation, he stepped sideways, gripping Ashley under the arm. She pulled as she walked with him towards the door.

"Norman─" Her voice seemed to fail as Norman threw a glare at her. He wasn't going to argue here. Not when he'd just bargained for their lives. He could deal with her disappointment later. Right now, all that mattered was getting out of the office.

He opened the door and turned away from her. Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

A loud pop echoed through the hallway. It registered in Norman's mind before he made sense of what he was seeing. The guard in the hall jolted backwards, his head hitting the wall against the explosion of blood. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor at the feet of the man still pointing the pistol where the guard's head had been.

The man turned and looked at Norman, and Norman's blood ran cold at the stoical expression on the man's face. This man had an agenda. And now he and Ashley were on it.

Then the man twisted his body, and turned the pistol towards him.


	15. Chapter 15: Loss

Norman slammed the door shut as a series of holes punched through the door. He pulled Ashley to the side as the air whipped by him. Paco was yelling and the women screamed at one end of the room.

There was no time to talk. Norman swung his arm against the wall, flicking the lightswitch and plunging the room into darkness punctured only by the swirling blue lights of the aquarium. Panic darted through him as he yanked Ashley towards the couches. There was nowhere to go. They were trapped.

The door burst open just as Norman rolled behind the couch, Ashley tumbling with him. The room erupted in gunfire. Norman pressed his back against the couch as Ashley curled into him, her legs scrambling in an attempt to pull herself into a tight ball. Instinctively, Norman wrapped his arms around her as he heard Paco holler over the gunshots. Then Paco's voice went quiet, and there was only the screaming of the two women. Norman's terror threatened to overwhelm him as the women shrieked in unison. There was a pop, and then there was only one woman screaming in between her sobs. Another pop, and the room fell silent.

Ashley was shaking so hard that Norman thought she would tremble right out of his grip. He straightened as footsteps made their way across the room. Glass tinkled, and something rolled across the floor. Then there was a slight knocking of wood. Norman closed his eyes. The killer was looking for them.

Norman pushed Ashley up so that she was sitting straighter, and he put his hand against her face to be sure she was looking at him. He gazed at her with intense focus, willing her to understand what they had to do. Her brown eyes were barely visible in the darkness, but he felt her nod. She was no doubt completely terrified, but he needed her to be focused. For once, she had to be in control of the situation.

The footsteps drew closer. Norman pulled his legs up so he was in somewhat of a crouched position, and stared at the wavy blue shadows next to him. Every muscle in his body was shaking, and it took everything in him to keep still. He had to be ready. For what, he wasn't sure. But whatever happened, he would at least give Ashley a fighting chance.

He glared into the darkness, each second filling him with more fight instinct. He hadn't survived Mad Jack and Paco Mendez to be shot like a helpless victim. The adrenaline built up in him like a spring. There was a crunching next to him, and Norman's body went numb as the shadow of a man drifted over the couch.

Norman shot upwards, barreling into the man and stumbling with him into the desk. There was a pop, but Norman had a hold of the man's arm. He put all his weight into the man's arm so that it almost bent backwards over the desk, and the man jerked as the gun clattered to the floor.

A surge of energy powered Norman into a frantic series of punches. The killer was unarmed. They were on equal ground now.

The man swung his arms and Norman's blows went sideways. A sharp pain erupted in the back of Norman's neck as the man swung his fist into him, and Norman fell forward against the desk. He twisted quickly, and was shocked when the man backed away from him, flinging his arms behind him. It took a moment for Norman to realize Ashley had jumped on the man's back and had her arm around his throat.

The man groaned as he catapulted himself backwards, and Norman launched himself after him. They had him pinned. If they could just subdue him…  
He heard Ashley yelp as the man slammed against the wall, knocking items off the shelves. Ashley dropped to the floor, and Norman felt fire burn through him as the killer turned toward her. He couldn't let him touch Ashley. No matter what, the killer had to stay focused on him.

Norman crashed into the man, crumpling against the wall. Before he could recover, Norman felt clenched fists on his shoulders, and he was suddenly flying towards the desk. Norman stumbled against it, panic racking his body. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, feeling his foot connect with the man's torso. The man staggered backwards, and then jerked to the side as a chair knocked into him.

Norman rushed forward as Ashley dropped the chair. She raised a hand to him, and then they both cried out as the killer tumbled into both of them. The man was ungodly strong. A surge of frustration bolted through Norman as he fell to the floor. He heard a crash, and then Ashley fell on the floor next to him.

Something clanged next to him, sending up sparks in the darkness. Without thinking, Norman rolled to the side as there was another chop. Norman scrambled backwards onto his feet, a sharp swishing noise following close in front of him. He felt his gut wrench as he made sense of the figure chasing him. The man had grabbed one of the swords that had fallen from the wall.

Norman frantically grabbed for anything. A guitar clanged to the ground in between them, and Norman flung a lamp towards him. The killer barreled forward, deflecting the lamp easily. Norman darted for the desk, throwing his shoulders back as the sword arched through the air in front of him. He was losing space quickly. There was no way he could fight against a sword.

He fell back against the desk and twisted his body as the sword swung down. It clunked into the wood beside him. Norman straightened, but the sword was already swinging at him again. He flattened himself against the desk, a flash of metal flying above his eyes. Desperation tore at him. He was trapped. Any second, the sword would make contact.

The killer swung the sword down, and Norman rolled off the desk onto the ground, staring up at the figure above him. The man stepped towards him, raising the sword.

A loud pop shook the room. Followed by two more gunshots. Bits of wood exploded off the desk as the bullets hit. Norman froze, and realized the killer had stopped in his tracks. Against the blue of the fishtank, Ashley's form was poised, pistol held in both hands in front of her.

For a while, there was only heavy breathing. Norman gazed at the killer. It took him a second to realize that Ashley had shot the desk to get the killer's attention, and it had worked. There was no fight now. They had him.

"Drop the… the…" Ashley's voice shook as she spoke. "...the samurai sword. And put your hands on your head."

The killer didn't move. Norman swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest. If the killer knew what was good for him, he would surrender. He had to, or Ashley would have to shoot him. And after everything they'd been through in the past two days, Norman would be damned if he'd let that happen.

The killer slowly lowered his arms and stepped away from him as Norman raised himself slightly onto his elbows. This was it. They finally had him.

There was a swish as the figure spun in front of him, and there was the clang of metal against metal. Ashley disappeared, and then Norman heard her scream in pain.

Norman launched himself upward against the desk as they came back into view. Time seemed to stop as he saw the killer back away. Ashley had her back against the wall, the sword buried to the hilt in her abdomen.

Norman bolted forward, all sense leaving him. This couldn't be real. Not now. Not like this.

The killer moved to the doorway as Norman reached Ashley. She gripped the handle in both hands, and Norman put his hand on her shoulder, unable to even think of where to begin. She'd been nailed to the wall.

"Get him," she stammered. There was a metallic flick, and Norman had just enough time to see the man toss a small flame onto the ground before the man disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him.

Norman's mind racked with panic, confusion, and a host of other emotions he didn't have time to think about. Ashley groaned as she pulled at the sword, her form suddenly growing clearer in the yellow light of the flames. Norman gave his head a shake, forcing the panic out of his system. He had to think. Ashley was impaled, the room was on fire, and the killer was getting away. How the hell was he supposed to think?

Norman pressed his hand under her jaw, cupping her head up to him as he gazed into her eyes. "I need you to bear with me, okay?" he said.

Ashley shook her head, her brown eyes growing glassy. "Just get out of here."

Norman put one hand on her shoulder and gripped the hilt of the sword in the other. Ashley braced against it, her chest heaving. He struggled to control the pounding of his heart. "Are you ready?"

Ashley glared at him through her painful expression. "No."

Norman tilted his head. There wasn't much of an option. With a deep breath, he pulled hard. The sword slid easier than he expected, and fell with a clatter onto the floor.

Ashley fell into him, and Norman immediately caught her as she curled forward onto herself. The hard part was over. Now they just had to escape. He lifted her arm over his shoulder and pulled her to the doorway, grasping the doorknob firmly.

It was locked. Norman scrambled to find the lock, and felt only the scrapes of a keyhole. He kicked at the door in despair. The door had a two-way lock.

Norman spun, struggling to support Ashley as she clutched onto him. He wasn't giving up yet. A metallic glint caught his attention, and he kneeled carefully, grasping the killer's pistol in his hand. Without hesitation, he raised the pistol to the doorknob and fired.

The metal warped, and Norman kicked at the door again, bashing it open.

Smoke drifted around them as they staggered down the corridor. Ashley's weight was growing heavier, and Norman's sight was nearly blinded by adrenaline. He had to get her far enough away from the fire to set her down.

They turned a corner, and Norman spotted a dark window and a glass door up ahead. It was as good a place as any. He pulled Ashley closer into him, and kicked open the door, dragging her out onto a spacious concrete balcony bordered by a walls of rain.

Norman backed up against the wall, and slowly lowered Ashley into a sitting position. She drew her legs up, pressing her arms into her lower abdomen. Residual energy forced Norman to stay focused. He slipped the pistol into his jacket and dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He barely needed to look at the numbers to dial the police station. "This is Agent Norman Jayden. I need an emergency air evacuation and the fire department at Club Synn in downtown Philadelphia. I've got an officer down."

"I didn't shoot him…" Ashley's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why the hell didn't I just shoot him…" She rolled sideways as Norman put the phone away. He gripped her shoulder, forcing her to sit upright. She was going into shock.

"Ashley, I need you to stay focused." He kneeled in front of her, struggling to see through the darkness at her wound. A jagged red cut bled just above the level of her jeans. He felt an almost synthetic relief. "It's low. It's not as bad as it seems."

"Norman." Ashley tilted her head towards him, her eyebrows narrowed. "I've just been stabbed. With a sword." She clenched her eyes shut and her head dropped back against the wall.

"Hey," said Norman, his heart beginning to pound again. " _Hey_. I need you to stay with me. Stay awake." He put a hand against her cheek to keep her head up as she blinked. "Talk to me. Just talk about anything."

A small smile played at her mouth. "You talk to me. Tell me a something crazy." Her eyes seemed to fall in and out of focus as she gazed at him.

Norman sat back slightly, a shallow warmth filling him despite the panic. "Me tell you something crazy?" He shook his head. "You know I almost got melted in a vat of acid today?"

Ashley closed her eyes as she smiled, her expression turning again to pain as her eyebrows narrowed. "Oh my god…" She shook as she laughed lightly. "You almost got melted…"

Norman held onto her arm to steady her. Though it was killing him to be so helpless, watching as blood slowly spread across her clothes, he couldn't help but feel a need to stay in this moment. This was more important than their conversation in the car, their resolution at the burned apartment, or their talks at the station. He realized he knew hardly anything about her despite their ordeal together. And she knew almost nothing about him. It wasn't right. He didn't want to lose her like this.

She sighed heavily as her muscles relaxed, and Norman felt a dash of terror as he shook her again. "Ashley… Ashley don't you pass out on me."

She straightened, lifting her head towards him again. "I'm okay, I'm just… tired."

"You're not tired, you're body is going into shock," said Norman. "Keep talking to me."

"The fish." Ashley swayed as she looked at him. "The fish are going to die, aren't they?"

Norman stared at her. He could hardly believe it. Even in the midst of a fire, four murders, and nearly getting chopped in half, Ashley never missed the opportunity for an awkward silence.

He ran a hand over his face, the confusion clashing with his anxiety in a way that he thought would make his head explode. "What fish?"

She shifted against the wall. "The fish in the aquarium. I mean, can fish burn if they're in a fishtank?"

Again, Norman had no idea if it was the shock altering Ashley's mental state, or if it was just plain her speaking. He shook his head, unable to stop his smile. "Are you fan of sushi?"

Ashley's eyes widened. "Oh god…" She hunched forward and muttered something.

Norman leaned towards her, the motion igniting his nerves. "What? What is it?"

She raised her head slightly, her eyebrows narrowed. "I said fuck you, Norman." She paused, her head rocking sideways so that her hair fell across her face. Norman recognized the weariness in her eyes and he shook her again.

"Stay awake," he said. "You stay with me."

She gazed at him, her dark hair falling sideways as she leaned. "Slap me or something. Or… tell me you're actually a woman or you have five grandfathers. Just… give me a reason to live." Her head fell back against the wall as she stared up at the stormy sky and swallowed.

Norman laughed despite himself. He squeezed her shoulder as he looked at her, a deep twinge rising in his chest. She really was something odd. Something he could never be able to explain to anyone. Here she was, bleeding out on the concrete and still able to completely throw him off guard. He was hardly aware of the fact that he was slowly losing her.

The twinge in his chest grew stronger, and he felt his smile disappear as a strange anxiety overtook him. He'd changed so much in the two days he'd been here. Not entirely of his choice, and usually at the cost of everything he valued most in his life. The battles with Blake and his growing friendship with Ashley… it was something he never would have predicted when he left Washington. And in all honesty, he wanted everything to keep changing. Everything except this.

Norman reached forward, sliding his hand against Ashley's neck so that his thumb ran along her cheek. She looked back at him, her brown eyes slightly widened at his touch. This time he didn't hide it as he gazed at her face, now framed by waves of brown hair that fell across her narrow brows and grazed her shoulders. Her round, clueless eyes were completely locked on his, a subtle look of surprise playing in them as she seemed to come to a realization. Norman wasn't losing her now. Not after how much she'd changed him.

He leaned into her, pulling her slightly forward. He could almost hear the pounding of her heart as she tilted her head up to him, and he was nervously aware of how unavoidably close he was to her now. Her eyes fell closed as his nose grazed hers, and he felt her mouth open as her breath warmed his lips.

He pulled back suddenly, the closeness severed. As he settled back again, her eyes opened and she straightened. Confusion seemed to be battling with dissapointed shock in her eyes as she gazed at him, her mouth still open as if dumbstruck. Norman struggled to slow his own beating heart as he waited. She made a noise, then her face softened in understanding. The corner of her mouth rose, and she leaned forward as she laughed.

"You… _you son of a bitch_ ," she gasped.

Norman couldn't help the laughter that shook him. Part of him felt betrayed as he laughed with her, but it was a small price to pay to keep her completely awake. She yelped as she held onto her abdomen, and her laughter broke slightly, though a painful smile still played on her mouth.

The chopping of a helicopter arrived almost on cue in the distance, its white lights panning back and forth through the sky. Norman gazed up at it through the haze of rain. The relief that filled him was dampened by the disappointment of losing this moment. He mentally kicked himself for even having that reaction. They had to get out of there before the building burned down.

Norman threw a glance at Ashley to be sure she was still alert, then stood up, stepping out into the rain and waving his hands. He was instantly soaked, and his breath fogged in front of him. The spotlight panned back and forth, then finally settled on the balcony, practically blinding him. As Norman stepped back, the sounds of the chopper blades roared above him, and there was a scramble against the light.

He darted back to Ashley who was pushing herself up into a better sitting posture. She raised a hand to him as he approached, and he took it against his chest as he kneeled next to her. The strange twinge fluttered through his chest again as he felt her smooth her thumb over his knuckles, and she looked up at him with a weak but sincere smile.

Footsteps clattered on the concrete, and voices rose above the splashing of the rain.

"You the one who called for an air evac?" A paramedic rushed to them as two others hooked up a medical airlift stretcher. "Are you both injured?"

Norman moved back as the paramedic crouched next to them. "Just her," Norman called. "She was stabbed by a sword through the stomach." He held Ashley's hand while the paramedic examined her abdomen, and Ashley clenched her teeth as she straightened.

"Okay." The paramedic shifted onto his knees and looked up at Norman. "We can move her. Carefully."

There was a scrape as the other paramedics pulled the stretcher toward them. Norman gripped Ashley's arm as she raised herself up onto the stretcher, her legs bent in tension. As they fitted the straps over her, Norman found himself clutching her hand in both of his. Despite the urgency of the situation and the clear danger, he couldn't let her go.

"Is the perpetrator still in the area?" The paramedic snapped the buckles closed as he looked at Norman.

Norman shook his head. "No, but there's a fire in the building." He watched Ashley's face as she rested back against the stretcher, her throat working as she swallowed.

He felt a tug on his arm, and realized one of the paramedics was pulling him aside. "We got her now. You can let go."

A flush of frustration shot through him, but Norman forced himself to release his grip on her hand. The paramedic moved forward, finishing the straps and made a motion upwards. As Norman gazed at Ashley's face, the ropes snapped tight, and the stretcher lifted into the air towards the bright light of the helicopter. Norman held his hand up against the light as he watched the rectangular silhouette grow smaller and smaller, until the white light overtook it completely.

His built-up anxiety seemed to come back again with a vengeance. Norman ran a hand through his hair and turned towards the nearest paramedic. "How bad is she?" he said, knowing well that the question was pointless.

The paramedic shrugged as he reached up to grab a lowering rope. "I can't say right now. We're not going to know the full extent of the damage until─" The paramedic suddenly twisted, raising a hand to his ear. "What?"

Norman watched in nervous interest as the paramedic stood frozen. There was snapping as the other paramedics strapped themselves into harnesses.

"Is he─ are you serious? We have a medical emergency here!" The paramedic looked over the balcony, and Norman followed his gaze, spotting a line of red and blue flashing lights down below. "Alright, but this is bullshit," said the paramedic. Norman looked at the paramedic as he straightened. "We've got orders to airlift you to the ground. We're going to get you into a harness."

Norman felt the blood leave his face. "To the ground? But─" He looked around him as the paramedics fitted a harness around his arms and legs. "No. No, I'm not leaving my partner."

"I'm sorry, it's a direct order." The paramedic snapped a line to Norman's harness. "From the police department." The line clicked as the paramedic attached himself to the same line. He gripped Norman's shoulder. "Hang onto the line with both hands. We're going down."

Norman's feet left the ground as he was pulled upwards. His senses left him as he looked around him. This was wrong. He needed to be with Ashley. He couldn't just abandon her. Why would the evac team go directly against emergency protocol? The police department. It was bullshit. Since when did the police department have the authority to─

A burning disbelief filled him. He clenched the rope as the windows of the building sailed past him. Who else had the authority over almost everything in this city? The red and blue lights came into focus as the ground rose beneath him, and Norman stared at the crowd of policemen. He didn't have time for this. Whatever was waiting for him down below wasn't going to be good at all.

His feet hit the pavement, and the paramedic worked to unstrap him from the harness. Norman gazed up at the light of the helicopter, now merely a bright white dot against the torrent of rainfall.

"Well, look who just can't seem to keep his nose out of trouble."

Norman's blood ran cold. He closed his eyes and turned, opening them to face the last person he wanted to see.

Blake's usual smug smile tweaked his dark beard sideways as he stepped towards Norman, folding his arms across his chest. "So, did you find the Origami Killer, Norman?"

It took everything in Norman to keep from punching him on the spot. "What do you want, Blake?"

Blake tilted his head. "I just want to keep this city safe. Looks like you're still trying to do everything you can to set it on fire." Blake looked up at the building, his eyes flashing in the light of the helicopter. "So I hear you nearly got a cop killed, and judging by the fire, I'm guessing there's gonna be a few more dead bystanders?"

Norman breathed heavily. This was a waste of time. Blake had ordered him from the evac to simply gloat in front of him? He wasn't going to take it. Norman moved past him, his eyes nearly red from rage.

A hand clenched his arm. "Where do you think you're going?" Blake's voice suddenly turned serious. "I'm talking to you."

"I don't have anything to say to you," said Norman. The nervous energy in his muscles urged him to keep moving, but Blake's grip held him firmly in place.

"But I haven't talked to you in hours." The fake concern in Blake's voice nearly sent Norman into a furious frenzy. He balled his fists as Blake squeezed Norman's arm. "I was worried you might have driven your car off a bridge, what with losing your job and all."

Norman felt something snap in his brain. "I'm beyond done with your shit, Blake!" Norman yelled. "I really don't care anymore. You want to hear that you're right, I'm wrong, you're the better cop and I'm the loser? Fine! Soak it in!" He yanked his arm away. "Philadelphia would be nothing without a cop like you, Blake. In fact, you're what's singlehandedly holding this whole city together. Feel free to beat the shit out of anyone you want, because you own this town, don't you?" White hot fury fizzled through Norman's body as he glared at Blake.

Blake was silent for a moment. Then the smug look returned. "Well, that's a surprise. You gonna suck my dick too?" Norman shook as Blake stepped toward him. "Anyways, I got a party to head back to. So why don't we just make this quick." There was a clink of metal as Blake pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Put your hands behind your back."

Norman's rage was cut by his shock. He stepped backward, staring at the glinting cuffs. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing, moron?" Blake twirled the handcuffs. "You're under arrest."

A breath of disbelief escaped Norman's lungs. "For what?"

"Well, causing a fire for one." Blake glanced up at the building. "Being the last witness to an apparent suicide yesterday, pushing a man into a tub of acid, oh." Blake snapped his fingers. "And I'd also like to ask you a few questions on how the criminal of the century was able to just vanish from the station."

Norman shook his head as he took another step back. "Are you fucking insane?"

"I'd ask you the same thing," said Blake. He tsked. "But frankly… I'm just fucking pissed off." He stretched the handcuffs between his hands. "Now are you gonna come quiet, or do you want to make my day?"

Norman looked around at the surrounding policemen. There had to be something he could do. This was illegal. It was pointless. There were so many things he had to do. So many places he had to be. He didn't have time for this.

A few officers stepped towards him, and Norman felt helpless reality sink in. He threw Blake one last glare, then slowly turned on the spot, raising his hands behind his head. Footsteps approached, and his hands were yanked down behind his back. There was a snap, and Norman felt the familiar metallic sting of the handcuffs around his wrists.

"That's too bad," Blake's voice growled in his ear. "I was kinda hoping for another opportunity to pound your face in."


	16. Chapter 16: A Reason To Live

Norman pressed his clenched hands to either side of his head, closing his eyes as the sounds of the ocean drifted around him. The monster groaned behind him, and the water churned as the creatures shifted through the murky gloom. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there at the desk he never thought he'd sit at again. Couldn't be longer than the time he'd spent in the interrogation room being harassed with pointless questions.

Even Perry had arrived to shout at him some more. Norman couldn't explain how he'd managed to be witness to the deaths of six people in two days, and place countless others in danger. He couldn't explain why he couldn't just drop the case and go back to Washington. And despite his attempts to speak over them, he couldn't prove that the man who attacked them at Club Synn was in fact the Origami Killer.

So he'd humored their questions, trying not to explode over such accusations as killing Thomas Roman himself, or somehow planning the escape of Ethan Mars. Blake seemed to pull every resource at his disposal to get a rise out of him, and Norman wanted badly to give in and simply club him across the face. But the real fight was to be completely truthful. There was no point in bringing Norman in other than to give Blake someone to battle with in place of a suspect.

The water reverberated as the dark shape groaned, and Norman clenched his hands in front of his face. After everything that happened at Club Synn, after dealing with Paco and nearly getting Ashley killed, he'd walked away with nothing. No name, no evidence, no killer. And not only did he accomplish nothing, he'd managed to lose his entire stash of triptocaine.

The only thing he could focus on was the killer himself. Norman tried as hard as he could to find him in the ARI. He took note of every detail he'd seen in the seconds the killer stood in the light of the hallway. The killer was tall, around six foot. He was strong and heavy, probably weighing over two hundred pounds, and was at the top of the age group in the killer's profile. He had short gray hair and wore a brown trenchcoat. His eyes… Norman pressed his knuckles against his mouth. What color were his eyes? It happened too fast. Most of the events in the past few hours were a complete blur. He'd barely been aware of what he was fighting in the darkness of Paco's office.

Norman should have been well passed out in his hotel room by now, but he couldn't go back knowing there was so much that needed to be done. So much that he couldn't do because he didn't have the clues. He took meager comfort in the abyss of the fake ocean that surrounded him. Norman breathed against his clenched hands in frustration. He could blanket the world around him, but he could never escape from it entirely.

There was a creak as the office door opened. Norman turned his head in the direction of the door, and sighed heavily. This was getting old very fast.

"Look, I think I speak for everyone when─" His heart froze in his chest as he removed his glasses.

Ashley gazed at him from the doorway, swaying lightly on the spot as she supported herself against the wall. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Hey."

For a moment, Norman felt he was paralyzed. Then he pushed up from his desk, marching toward her so fast he nearly barreled into her.

"Jesus, Ashley…" He put a hand on her shoulder, his breath caught in his chest. "Are you okay?"

Ashley tilted her head, her hair falling across her face. "It feels like I've done about a thousand sit ups in about three minutes. I mean, not that I've done a thousand sit ups before but…" She rolled her eyes, and Norman noticed the weariness still lingered in them. "But what about you? Blake actually arrested you?"

Norman nodded, a jet of frustration burning through him. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you. Blake's just looking to take out his anger on anything at this point."

Norman ran a hand over his face, and then motioned to Ashley's torso. "What did they do at the hospital? They let you out this soon?"

Ashley's face tensed and her eyes widened. She shifted on the spot. "I umm…"

"Oh god." Norman put a hand to his forehead. "You bailed?"

"Look, we've got less than twenty-four hours to save Shaun," said Ashley quickly. "You were gone, no one was looking, I just─" She sighed, shifting her weight slowly to one hip. "I didn't want to lay around in a hospital all night."

"Ashley, you were stabbed. Through your stomach." Norman returned Ashley's fierce gaze. He sighed and moved toward the door, cupping a hand under her arm.

"What are you doing?" said Ashley.

"Taking you back to the hospital," said Norman. He felt Ashley jerk her arm out of his grip.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Ashley stepped backward as Norman turned toward her. "I don't have time to be locked up."

"Ashley─" Norman stopped as Ashley raised her finger toward him in mimic of his own gesture hours before.

 _"_ _No,_ Norman," she growled. "You think I'm just going to lay in a hospital while Shaun drowns, Ethan Mars is killed or worse, and the Origami Killer disappears again? Jesus, don't you know me at all?" She swallowed heavily as she rocked on the spot, and again Norman was reminded of a child standing up to an adult.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. As much as he was worried for her, and as much as he knew she was only putting more stress on her body by leaving the hospital, he couldn't ignore his immense relief that she was here with him again. There was so much fighting against him─ time, red tape, Blake, every criminal in Philadelphia… it seemed even luck was trying to murder him every chance it got. There was nothing she could do to help him, but that strange twinge shot through his chest and he knew he couldn't make her leave.

Norman rested his hand on the doorknob and looked sideways at her. "How bad is it?" he said.

Ashley shifted slightly, lowering her gaze to the floor. "Not that bad, obviously. I mean, the doctor said an inch higher would have cost me a kidney. And I have to be careful of what I eat for the next week." She glanced up at him and ran her thumb over her bottom lip. "So I'm staying?"

Norman clenched his hand on the cold metal of the doorknob, then pulled the door closed. "I'm not going to force you to go back to the hospital," he said.

Ashley nodded, folding her arms across her chest and wincing in pain. "Good. Because I'd have fought you off."

Norman couldn't help his snort of laughter as he moved around her towards his desk. "I'm sure you would have." He caught a glance of her defiant brown-eyed glare and felt his residual frustration leak away. At least she had confidence even if it was unrealistic.

He picked up the glasses from the desk as he sat down, pausing a moment to rest his forehead against his palm. Ashley leaned back against the desk and clutched the edge in both hands. "Did you find him?" she asked, twisting her body slightly so she looked at him over her shoulder.

Norman shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "No DNA, no fingerprints, no nothing." He unfolded the ARI and slipped the glasses over his nose, plunging into the deep black sea. "All I've got is a physical description that I have to match to about half a million people. I think I'm about─ " He flicked his wrist and brought up the endless list of the population in Philadelphia. "─a hundred people in." The monster moaned in the darkness as it passed in front of him, swirling the bioluminescent dots.

"There's… come on. There has to be something." The desk shifted and Ashley's voice echoed strangely. Norman looked in her direction, disturbed by the fact that he couldn't see her. With an almost treacherous shame in his chest, he closed his hands together and spread them apart, drawing out the bubbles of different environments. Casting one last look to Nessie, Norman pressed his gloved hand to the desk and pulled up a revolving bubble. The murky sea melted away, revealing the dusty walls, lopsided filing cabinet and stacks of newspaper. Ashley appeared on the far end of the office, walking in slow circles as she rubbed the back of her neck.

Norman watched her for a moment, his escape from the black sea making him feel as though he were spying on her. Ashley smoothed her hand over her stomach and paused, her brown hair falling over her face.

"Security cameras," she said, and Norman looked away quickly as she turned toward him. "Entry permits… what about the sword?"  
Norman shook his head. "There's no surveillance in that part of the building, and everything burned in that fire." He ran a hand over his face and turned back to the list, scrolling through each and every citizen.

"You can't just describe what he looks like to the ARI?" said Ashley. "I thought it could do pretty much everything."

"It's no different than a computer," said Norman, flicking through the different profiles. "I need something tangible to work with."

Ashley sighed and leaned against the wall, and Norman fought the urge to glance at her again. "How could a man burst into an office, kill three people, nearly kill us, set the room on fire, and just walk away with no evidence that he was even there?" she said.

A breath of frustration escaped Norman's throat. "The same way he's been able to kidnap and kill for three years." He glared at the photos that flicked by. "He's… a genius."

The room fell silent under the distant patter of rainwater. Norman rested his chin on his fist as he flicked his finger through the list. He was barely paying attention now, and it wouldn't have surprised him if the killer's face panned right past him without him noticing. Not that he could remember exactly what the killer looked like anyway. The more he focused on the details, the more they seemed to leak away from his memory. Each face that passed by obscured the description further. Was the killer really that old? His hair could have been more brown than he remembered. And he was almost certain that the killer's eyes were anywhere from pure black to cold blue.

There was a shuffle next to him, and Norman looked sideways as Ashley kneeled next to a stack of newspapers by his desk. She grunted in pain, pushing a smaller stack next to it.

"What are you doing?" asked Norman.

"What's it look like?" said Ashley as if it were plainly obvious. "I'm making a chair."

Norman smacked a hand to his forehead. "Why─ there's chairs─" He sighed heavily as he gazed down at her. "Here." He stood up and moved next to her, taking her under the arm. She wobbled slightly as she rose to her feet, looking at him as though he were interrupting her. Norman shook his head, that twinge in his chest becoming a nuisance at this point. "I swear, I'm never going to figure you out," he said.

Ashley's mouth tensed into a smile as she moved into the chair. "Have you even tried yet?" She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the surface of the desk and laying her head on them. Norman laughed lightly as he panned the list in front of him again.

"Believe me, I've tried," he said as he sat on the edge of the desk, continuing his search. He swept his hand across, passing up five of the profiles at once. He half-wished he could pull Ashley into the ARI with him, but then he would have to deal with the guilt of making her search pointlessly as he was now.

"It's too bad he didn't just shoot me," said Ashley. "We'd at least have a bullet."

"Don't say that." The painful anxiety of seeing her impaled nipped at Norman's chest. He glanced down at her as she brushed her hair back from her face, her eyes seemingly locked on the fabric of his pants. "Finding the killer isn't worth your life."

Her eyes glinted as she looked up at him. "We're cops. We're basically hired to die."

He dropped his hand, a smile breaking across his face but his voice was stopped in his throat as he suddenly froze. A bullet from the killer's gun… Norman's memory tugged at him, forcing him to remember. He shifted against the desk, bringing his hand up to his chest and fumbling inside his jacket. Ashley lifted her head up, and he pulled the pistol from his jacket. Not his Baretta, but a different 45 caliber pistol. He stared at it in silence for a few moments as it sank in. The killer's weapon.

Norman had completely forgotten he'd taken it with him.

He let out a small laugh. "Huh," he muttered as he turned the gun over in his hand. He held his gloved palm over the gun and released a beam of light. The gun was illuminated, and a list of details panned in front of him. He stared at them, a new excitement electrifying his body.

"What is it?" Ashley sat up straight as she looked at him. Norman flicked through the analysis.

"This gun. I took it from Paco's office. It belongs─" He paused as he raised the gun, gazing at the barrel. "─to no one apparently. Impounded five years ago after an arrest." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs as he stared down at the pistol. "How the hell did the Origami Killer get a hold of this?"

Ashley leaned over his shoulder, gazing at the weapon. "Someone took it from a police station?" she said.

"Someone." Norman tilted his head to look sideways at her. He ran a hand over his face, cold realization flowing through him. The kidnappings in broad daylight, access to random vehicles and phones, the mind-blowing intelligence and apparent genius behind the lack of evidence… Norman stood up from the desk, running his hand through his hair. He turned slowly on the spot, feeling more grounded than he'd ever been since the start of the investigation. "The Origami Killer is a Philadelphia police officer."

Ashley's eyes widened. "A cop…"

Norman moved forward, kneeling in front of the desk as he brought up the list of the population. He pressed his hand against it. "Philadelphia police department." A vast majority of the list shrank away, leaving a list of over a thousand names. Norman quickly scanned through each profile, a new energy motivating him through the massive list. His temples buzzed, and through the interface, he saw Ashley watching him.

"If he's a cop…" She shook her head slowly. "That's still gotta be over a thousand people."

"Four thousand," he said as he flicked through the list. "Still better than half a million."

The desk shook as Ashley leaned forward, her hands running through her loose hair. "It's still not enough. There's gotta be more we can do to narrow it down."

"I can do this." Norman tapped the air, his neck beginning to ache as he looked back and forth between the list and the images. He'd already filtered the list to the killer's description, and added the killer's profile for good measure. It not only seemed possible. It was within his reach as long as he stayed focused.

There was a scrape as Ashley stood up from the chair. She moved past him as Norman gazed at the list. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm getting you a chair," she said. "You're gonna need it since I stole yours." The door opened and closed behind him. Norman tried to ignore the pounding that was creeping up in his temples. The faces flew past him, almost in a blur. He was pushing it, and that was dangerous. But he had to search. The killer's face was here somewhere. All he had to do was find it.

The door opened again and there was a slight crunching as something rolled into the office. Ashley appeared in the corner of Norman's vision, pushing a computer chair next to him. "I'm pretty sure Blake would be perfectly happy to give up his chair for you, especially since─" There was a pause, and she moved in front of the desk and leaned forward towards him. Through the flicking faces, Norman saw her eyes narrow in worry. "Norman," she said. "You've got a nosebleed."

He almost put a hand to his lip to check, but forced himself to keep scanning. The faces panned faster as flicked his wrist. "It's nothing to worry about." He stood up slightly and backed into the computer chair, pulling the list with him as he moved back toward the desk.

It was getting more difficult to ignore the concerned look on Ashley's face. She sat next to him in the broken chair, her hands folded in front of her face as she rubbed her bottom lip with both her thumbs. He wished she would simply say something rather than stare at him. This was the only way to find the killer, and worrying about his health wasn't helping any.

"It's going to be fine, Ashley," he said. Even as he said it, his head began to pound. The list just wasn't going by fast enough. He'd be up for hours scrolling through it. If he could just push it…

"What about withdrawal?" Ashley's voice was slurred as she spoke through her fingers. "You lost─ I mean, there's no more triptocaine."

"I don't need triptocaine." Norman tapped each of his fingers down the lines, developing a quick method as if he were pressing the keys of a keyboard. He heard Ashley let out a sharp breath.

"Well, that's news to me."

Norman paused for a moment, a jet of anger shooting through him. He looked at Ashley who stared at her clenched hands on the desk, her eyes narrowed in a mix of worry and frustration. Part of him wanted to snap back at her, but he returned to searching. There was no point in starting a fight. Not over that anyway.

The images flashed in front of him, nearly blinding him as he glanced at each one. There were so many people in this damn city. He hadn't given much thought to how many police officers a busy city actually needed. And they all looked alike. All older men between the ages of thirty and forty five, and all had the exact same sour expression. For lack of a better description, they all looked like various forms of Blake.

The room around Norman seemed to fade out of existence as he focused on the list. It didn't seem to be scrolling fast enough. Ashley was right. There was no way he was going to find the killer in all these names. But he had to try. Even if it was hopeless, he had to keep fighting.

His upper lip was starting to itch, and a metallic taste lingered in his mouth. He didn't need to look at Ashley to know she was probably staring at him again. The search was becoming more fluid, as if he could control the ARI off of suggestion. The quicker he went through the list, the more natural it felt. He was barely aware of the pounding in his head.

Something touched his cheek, and Norman jerked slightly, losing his momentum. "Christ," said Ashley. "Is that blood…"

He was over two hundred officers in. And it was getting easier. He could do this. He just had to keep going.

"Norman, take off the ARI," said Ashley. Norman glanced at her, though her form seemed to be broken up in the haze of the interface.

"Just let me do this," he said, struggling to hide his frustration.

"It's─ Norman you're bleeding."

"I can handle it." He tapped through several more names. Three hundred down. At this rate, he could have every one of them scanned in roughly an hour. The withdrawal would be massive, but Ashley was with him. As long as he got the name, it didn't matter what happened to him afterward.

"This is crazy." Ashley's voice was garbled as if passing through water. "It's going to kill you."

That was strange. He hadn't opened an environment. His hands were on autopilot, going through each name as if his arms weren't attached. He didn't even need to focus anymore. The ARI was doing it for him.

"Turn it off. Norman, stop!"

Her voice was really beginning to irritate him. She probably shouldn't have stayed after all. If she would just let him be, this could all be done in no time. He wasn't in any pain. In fact, this was the easiest search he'd ever done. It was just a simple case of identifying someone. If he let go, he could probably just upload his own memory to the ARI and find the killer instantly. Was that part of the programming? If not, he could always test it.

Someone was speaking to him. It was far away now. And he didn't have time to stay in the real world. There was so much data here. So much he had to go through. All the answers were right here if he could just dig deeper─

A sickening jolt brought him back into the dingy office, and Norman fell forward onto the desk, clawing at its surface. Something horrible had happened. He felt as if he'd just lost a portion of his brain. As he struggled to regain control of his muscles, Ashley came into his fuzzy vision. She was sitting up, leaning away from him. And in her hands clenched against her chest was the ARI.

Norman lunged for her, barely able to guide his hands which flung through empty air as Ashley stumbled away from him. The room spun as he tumbled onto the ground, and he fought to make his legs work. He needed the ARI. She couldn't just rip it away from him like that… what the hell was she thinking? He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe…

A groan escaped him as he slowly crawled arm over arm across the floor. His hands shook as if electrified, and the room morphed around him. He'd never found it so difficult to control his own body. A roaring buzz filled the room, and it took him a while to recognize Ashley's voice.

"─this, Norman. I'm not going to just let you kill yourself." She echoed strangely above him.

Norman raised himself slightly, searching for her through the blurry shapes. "You're… you're killing me." He fell onto his side, drawing his knees up as his skin burned into sensation again. He needed the ARI. He needed triptocaine. Anything to get rid of this raw exposure.

A hand gripped his arm. "I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

He jerked his arm away from her. "You should've… stayed at the hospital." His muscles shook as he slowly raised himself off the floor into a sitting position. The room morphed oddly, and he pressed his hand to his forehead in attempt to stabilize himself. "You don't know what you're doing."

A strange waterfall noise was rushing in his ears. Despite the overwhelming sensation, this felt different than his usual withdrawal. Whether it was a good or bad thing, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. He'd never felt so dislocated. Was he even angry? Were these his thoughts or someone else's?  
Norman grasped the edge of the desk as he stood up, pausing over the dusty surface as he regained his balance. Logic seemed to be at war with theory in his head, as if he were slowly waking up from a vivid dream. He couldn't tell which was real and which was imaginary. And that forced his anger to give way to miserable frustration.

He ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes. He didn't care which way he went, as long as he didn't have to make a decision. It was so difficult to simply _think_. Couldn't he just stop thinking? Norman gripped the desk and stared at the wall in an attempt to root himself in reality. He needed an anchor. Something he could force himself to believe in.

Norman twisted slightly. "Are you still there?"

Something moved in his peripheral vision. "I'm here."

The sound of Ashley's voice seemed to snap him back to his senses. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with one hand. Everything was beginning to fall back into place. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

"Don't." She gripped his shoulder, and Norman felt as though his feet had just hit the floor. He straightened, savoring the rational sensation. He'd really fallen far this time, but it had taken him in a strange direction. The ARI was getting out of his control. But he needed it. Or he just needed triptocaine─

Norman sighed heavily and pushed past Ashley, pressing his hands to his forehead as he walked in a slow circle. He didn't _need_ anything. He could handle the ARI. It was simply a matter of knowing his limits. And if he couldn't, he could always string the office up like…

"Purgatory," he said.

"What?" said Ashley. Norman dropped his hands and paused in the middle of the room.

"When your life is spent trying to tell the difference between reality and fantasy." Norman looked at her. She stood against the desk, both hands still gripping the ARI against her chest. Her body was tense as if she were contemplating running from him. Norman shook his head slowly. "You forget to ask where you fit in all this," he said.

Ashley's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Look, Norman…" She put her hands behind her and set the ARI on the desk. "I don't know what this thing is doing to you, but you can't use it like this. It's killing you."

The sincerity in her voice seemed to hit a wall in his mind. He gazed past her at the desk, a miserable weight hanging from his shoulders. "I think I stopped caring about that a long time ago," he said.

Ashley shook her head slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Norman slumped against the wall, staring off into space. "You're wrong about me Ashley," he said. "I am just a god damn junkie."

The silence was broken only by the patter of rainwater. Somehow saying it out loud seemed to solidify it in Norman's mind. He glared at the floor as he clenched one hand on his arm. The triptocaine, the withdrawal… was he really trying to save some innocent child and capture a serial killer, or was he simply looking for a reason to withdraw from reality?

There was a sharp breath as Ashley shifted in front of him. "Don't punish yourself like this. You're the strongest person I've ever met."

A sad laugh escaped Norman's throat. He gazed up at her. "You met me two days ago," he said, his voice strangely stoic. "You don't know who I am."

The energy left Ashley's brown eyes as her face tensed. A creeping shame burned in Norman's chest, and he pressed his clenched hands to his eyes again. Here he was, breaking down walls once again. Anything that got between him and the ARI was fair game. He hadn't realized how much he let it control him. But it was true. He was a junkie. And it was clear what his priorities were when it came to the ARI or making rational decisions.

A velvety warmth brushed his cheek, and Norman jerked in surprise, dropping his fists. His frustrations were dashed in an instant as Ashley lowered her hand quickly. She was close to him, barely a foot away, her wide eyes set in a nervous determination. Norman gazed at her, the strange twinge creeping in his chest again. Wasn't she ever going to learn that he would keep attacking her like this? She was so damn persistent. So stubborn. So…

She took a step closer to him, her brown eyes firmly locked on his. His chest ached, and it took him a moment to realize his heart was hammering. He found himself transfixed on her face, as if nothing else existed. The twinge was pulling everything away. It all seemed so pointless. Insignificant. If she didn't know who he was…

A numb wave fell over him, drawing the heat from his body as she moved into him. Her breath against his cheek seemed to ignite his senses, and the room grew dark as he gave way to them. The warmth shifted as she tilted her head up, and in a rush of paralyzing energy, Norman felt her lips close against his.

He was momentarily stunned as she paused against him. Everything was falling away in a slow cascade, leaving only the numbing realization of how close she was to him. He breathed against her skin, nearly drowning in her light touch. He needed it again. He needed _her_ again. Without a second thought, he leaned into her and pressed his mouth against hers.

The cascade returned, washing over him in an overwhelming rush. He couldn't take in enough of her. His senses were bent on memorizing every detail. The velvet smoothness of her skin, her pollen-like fragrance, the mint taste of her mouth… all of the things that had been so near to him and yet he'd never known.

He felt her hands slide up along his chest, brushing against his neck as he continued to close his mouth against hers. A fiery energy burned through him, and he pulled her body into him. Her slender body stretched, and he felt her fingers slide through his hair as she locked her arms around his shoulders. He'd never wanted anyone so close. Never wanted to be so exposed. And yet he needed more. Every movement she made threatened to take any ounce of control he had left.

Norman gripped her sides and pushed her in a circle, pressing her against the wall. The momentary break between them brought back a glimpse of her face, her brown eyes gleaming in the dim light and her mouth open as she breathed heavily against him. He brought up his hand and slid it over her neck, running his thumb over her jawline. How had he resisted her for so long? He'd doubted her, judged her, and pushed her away. But all those things which had caused him so much confusion and frustration were sending him over the edge. And they couldn't do it fast enough.

He pressed into her, closing his mouth over hers as his hands found their way back to her waist. She was breathing heavier now, her chest rising and falling and her breath sharp against his lips. He wanted more than anything for her to be as undone as he was for her now. If everything else in the world fell apart, he could find solace by simply falling into her.

Her shirt wrinkled as Norman slid his hands down her waist. His fingers brushed against the thick creases of her jeans, and he worked his thumbs underneath the edges of her shirt. The ache in his chest was giving way to a powerful desire that slowly filled him with energy. He tilted into her, letting her sharp breaths and the closing of her mouth on his feed this new energy. Her body arched against him and her fingers flexed in his hair, igniting the muscles in his body. With a pulse of blind desire, he slid his hands up along the bare skin of her waist, bringing her shirt with them.

A sudden shove sent reality crashing down on him. The touch of Ashley's lips and the debilitating closeness vanished, and Norman found himself taking a step backward. It took him a moment to realize Ashley's hand was stretched in front of him, her palm stretched out near his shoulder. As his senses reorganized themselves, he felt a deep dread fill him in a solemn understanding. She'd pushed him away.

One hand covered her mouth and her eyes were clenched tightly shut. She held the other in front of her, blocking Norman from moving closer to her. A blind panic raced through him as he stared at her. He didn't want to stop. He needed her. What had he done?

She breathed in sharply and her brown eyes opened. They were glassy, staring off into space. Norman's heart raced as he struggled to think of what to do. He'd pushed it too far. Too fast. But he could have sworn she wanted him. Her eyes had been so full of the same desire, a far cry from what they were now. Painful, ashamed, and distant.

An icy realization fell over him. He felt his face go numb. She was thinking of something. And he didn't need to use his profiling skills to know what.

He put his hand forward. "I'm sorry─"

Even as he said it, he knew it was useless. Frantic thoughts chased eachother in his mind. He didn't want to lose this. He'd never felt so complete as he had with her, and it was crumbling away so fast he couldn't keep it together. Each second that went by seemed to solidify a wall between them. He simply wanted to touch her again. To feel the closeness that had nearly swallowed him whole. It was agonizing, and at the same time, he knew there was nothing he could do.

Ashley's eyes closed again, and she ran her hands over her face. Her mouth was tensed, and her hands trembled as she clenched them against her lips. Norman waited for her to speak. To do anything that he could negotiate so he could make this right again. But as the seconds went by, Ashley's face seemed to grow more resolute. Her brown eyes opened again, and Norman felt his heart plummet at the fierce determination set in them.

Slowly she moved forward, passing by him. The space between them was ice cold, and the last frantic thoughts seemed to beat his mind. He had to stop her. Say something. Do _anything._

She silently passed from his vision, her soft footsteps echoing through the dingy room. Then the door opened and closed with a heavy click.

Norman stared at the wall, the powerful numbness quickly replaced by a wave of despair. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing free flakes of dried blood which slowly fell to the floor. Everything felt so empty. The space around him was like a vacuum. Cold, void, and dark. He put a hand to his mouth in a desperate attempt to draw back the overwhelming sensation that Ashley had given him. A painful dread weighed down his shoulders. He'd driven her away again.

Norman turned slowly on the spot, stepping backward so he rested his back against the wall. All of the logic and reason that had escaped him came rushing back. That feeling of numbness, the halting of time, the desire for more… he'd felt it before although not as strong, and he'd never completely surrendered to it. And he'd never experienced it outside of ARI and triptocaine.

He slid down against the wall, coming to a rest on the floor with his knees bent in front of him. A heavy sigh escaped him as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees as he put his forehead in his hands. He'd never had a chance to suspect what he was feeling for Ashley. Everything was happening so quickly. The race against the clock and the battle with the police department never gave him the time he needed to simply think. If things had been different, if only a few more days to spare, he could have rationalized the situation and not simply acted on impulse.

Yet even as he proceeded to blame everything else around him, a nagging worry tugged at him. ARI, triptocaine… it was so easy to pin his faults on addictive substances. He needed something else to be in control. To take the blame for him. And if he had to name it, perhaps he was simply addicted to being addicted.


End file.
